Tweetling’s fiery breast, conspicuously lost from ago’s vibrant spring, smarts as flake-fall starts. But, gelid breeze that does numb its feet and pause its song can only frost as fleeting—no match for a feathery flame of hope whose heart burns to survive a season longer. ; )

Penguin’s cousins rest upon the rocks,

Chirper’s chirps drowned by waves’ splashy knocks.

Finding shelter is duet’s next task;

Scene has neither twigs nor up-washed casque.

So, birbies molt all their downy best—

To make cushy an unideal nest. ; )

Wind plays its role instrumental—a hold harmonious—with surfing queen and, then, its peace is balanced by it humming board’s refrain on Sarah’s seraphine. ; )

When life cuts like a mezzaluna’s massage and self bandages fall before strength turns tall, remain…last…endure…stay…hold tight—for the right to your all will come. ; )

Field’s fractaled form, questionably fractured in feeling, lends each of its vibrissa to the wind, where they pine for the assuring ease of brushes by north’s uplifting breeze. ; )