The Baby Blackbirds Nears It's Winter

As little Katia rocks our shores,

A baby blackbird puffs up,

As he lands within the lawn.

I look from out the window

And wonder for a minute;

Will these little birds in the garden,

Survive the cold winter.

I sit, elderberry pips in teeth

And purple stained fingers,

Watching the early Autumn winds,

Dance gaily through,

Those sleepy Summer trees.

And all around there is a journey beginning,

A transition, through time and through space;

But I'm lost, on the wrong track,

Keeping the wrong pace in the wrong place,

And I don't know if I will ever find my way back.

I shall keep walking into the Winter's light,

And keep that baby blackbird in mind,

For he is either food for thought,

Or in the distant sweet Spring's

Sweet spring-song I shall find.

Will he hear me there,

Among the fresh grass-shoots too?

I doubt it so, for hungry I shall be,

In the shadows and trees

As I am used to,

And always shall forever be.

Yet in this early Autumn wind,

I can hear the call

Of a home I do not know,

I hear this call

And like a dog to his master, I just want to...

I can't find my way back,

If I can't ever remember leaving,

I'm just that little baby blackbird,

Out in the Winter's snow, freezing