By: Drake Myers

As the wind blows a harsh breeze,
And the trees start to sway on their knees,
Within the surface of the fleeting river,
I see myself sitting in the harsh weather,
As a boy, slouched down in the freeze.

My hair being blown around my head,
My hands in their own cozy beds,
O’er the quivering surface of the stream.
Wakes not one ripple from its summer dream,
Admiring Nature, a crown on its head.

As Winter comes, quickly on its sleigh,
It, the predator, Summer, the prey,
Other animals take food into stock,
As snow falls down, white as chalk,
I sit there, not unlike a rock,
Like Summer, broken by winter’s ram,
This boy quickly turns to a man.