'Tis a strange thing to fly to the north
and travel in lands where autumn is arriving
in tones of golds and reds and browns
and the dry leaves falling are blown about by the chill from a cold north wind..
then to fly home again to the south and
discover spring has arrived
and the blackbirds are singing songs of passion in the early mornings
and winter bare trees are once again decked in
greenery that dances in a warm north wind..
I have been dancing in that dance of the seasons
that never ends..