Go grab your Cello,
Make the music a little mellow;
A twig’s end story, little fellow
Let me begin, with a simple ‘ello!
The wind and water,
Are our pen pals and chauffeurs.
The hard lignin steed,
Remains a loyal one indeed –
As we mutiny at the end of a creek
Breezing past the tangible destiny;
Abandoning the brick walls,
Not stuck in a jam, where gasoline calls,
A mellifluous melody
A subtle harmony;
Green, then yellow,
Make it a loud rubato
The red is here, so the end is near
A dramatic close,
Silence till Spring, I suppose.