The Birds Upon the Winter Winds

It is the Winter Birds 
On barren branches
Hunched over memories
Of bygone Springs
And the warm zenith
Of Summers past.

And the recent Autumns
Of the Whippoorwill
Calling windward to
The winnowing wind.

It is the Winter Birds of Spring
In moon gleam glow
Against the dusking beams
Up from the melting snow.

It is the Winter Birds of Summer
Sun solaced and solitary
Amidst a sudden celebration,
Of night-flight elation,
A lost and golden orb
Turns and pivots
Upon the solstice.

It is the Winter Birds of Autumn
Homing the cloud, shrouding
Torrents of thunderbolts,
And the rainstorms   
Of ancient embroideries
Of changeless time.

Turning towards home
In ecliptic bridal armada
And the sweet bitter promising
Of a coming again Spring.