New Poem

Not much to say.  Just finished a new poem yesterday.  Possibly unfinished, but here you go.

In the country, time is measured in silent display.

By the deep drumming of the grandfather clock,

Or the colored age of the great furrowed cardinal

Bustling on the feeder through the window pane.

A midday squall swoops down into the valley.

The wind knocks the wood pile with a hollowed sound,

Before it sleeks back into the forest swiftly

trembling with the silence of ocean waves.

Catch the clarity of the long forgotten thought,

That ripples in the still country house.

The hidden rooms and dust stained floors

can whisper farther than an echoing shout.