Judith Anne Moody
The wind is blowing this day away
Feathered fingers of birch all a-flutter.
Father spruce gestures, his voice just a mutter
Explaining the ebb of the day.
Blankets of pink cloud the sun can borrow
As parting he flings his last ray.
Lovely soft end to a grey, snowy day
Blow wind, and bring me tomorrow.
Click the “start arrow” below to hear the audio of this poem: