Bitter Wind

Stepping out of home
is no longer easy
as it once was.

The highways grow
bitter somehow,
their wild rushing
in poisonous breath
countless lives falling away.

Green-fresh leaves,
whose tender wings once
spread wide to open horizons,
would fill the air
with their whispered song—constantly.

Crows will no longer
come flying to nest
in their intimate shelter
as before.

These nights now
tremble with such fear;
the expected silver moon's
merciless cry mingles
with the sudden flash
of sound after sound's shadowplay.