The Winds of Change

The winds of change do rustle through the trees, Reshaping dreams on their ethereal breath; What once was firm beneath the sun’s hot pleas, Now yields beneath the whispering hands of death.

Each bough sways gently to the tune of time, As seasons shift and colors slowly fade; Yet in each change, there’s beauty, and there’s rhyme, A promise held, without a mournful shade.

For as the leaves let go, they dance away, To join the earth, the soil—and life anew; And in their falling, still there’s hope, they say— The winds of change bring forth beginnings true.

So fear not, heart, for every ending speaks, A story told where gentle beauty seeks.

• Constance Fennell