Northern Shears

The cool breeze blows,
A shiver races through you.

A soft gust rolls over the land,
You accept the gust with open arms.

The wind dances in a playful jig,
Bringing a feeling of frolicking nature to your feet.

The breeze conjures a fiddle and starts to play,
Bringing a dance to the hall of leaves above.

A cascade of dry leaves rise with the gust and dance merrily in soft circles,
A whisper of the dance fills you with joy.

A jig becomes a jamboree, when joined by the sway of the bushes,
Taking hands to branches, the dance is shared before long.

When gust picks up a heightened nature, it warns of the party's end
Naturally your ears perk at the sound.

When gust becomes gale, the leaves are well rattled
Retreating towards home slowly at the urgency of wind's, a few chimes ring.

The last of chimes sound and the fiddle dies down, when chill enters the scene
Like a callous movie star, you bow your head in recognition.

As chill greets all, the wind gains frosty emblems
One song now sung, is too loud as howls frighten you away.

The thing to remember is all but now near, the emissary of the cold is here.

Hark, for the Northern Shears do come.