Wind

The wind blows cold
Across the plains and through my soul.
A feeble sun lights the day,
Changing black of night to a misty gray.
And the road is long.
And the road is long.

Long days gone the springtime run.
Only memories now of summer fun.
As the year grinds slowly to its end.
Creaking in the blasts of wind.
And the wind blows cold,
Still the wind blows cold.

Steven Thomas
© December, 1996