The Breeze

(First draft…)

Cycling along oak tree-lined ways
I lift my face to the breeze
and listen to the song the wind sings
as it brushes through the trees.

Rustling through branches, it sings
of it's journey across the seas 
to reach so far inland, tells tales 
of how it plays with the ocean waves
far away on foreign seas.

I turn my back and the breeze 
plucks my clothes, eagerly pushing past 
on its journey to the next grove of trees 
to sing again its songs for them
of the tales that it weaves.

Morning Frost

When morning frost has gone
and I hear birds sing for Spring
my heart joins the song.

Bird Song

The day after Imbolc
how joyously the birds
sing for Spring.

Sounds of Spring

Sounds of Spring;
the birds sing.
Even the noise of passing cars
cannot drown their joyful song.

Grey Day

Grey, damp and drizzly.
Even the birds have ceased to sing
the joys of the awakening spring.

Spring Valentine

O my Valentine,
it makes my heart sing
to see the signs of Spring
pushing upwards in the garden
despite the rain and wind.

Sing for Spring

Blue sky,
the birds sing for spring
and a spider’s web
glistens in the sun.
Who would believe that
two days ago we had snow?


Church bells call the faithful
while in the garden glade
silent bluebells listen
while the wind-chimes sing.

The Birds Sing

Barely the middle of January
and the birds sing of Spring.

Silent Bells

A gentle breeze
and the few remaining sycamore leaves
rock back and forth like silent bells;
tongueless, they cannot sing.

Site content copyright of Elizabeth Leaper (Libby).

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