A dozen halos surround my eyes
as I gaze upon the way
November sun bathes
concrete and grass
From the south it shines
upon my face
Comforted by the chilled
wind of Autum
Pointed green needles
of Evergreen trees
dance to the bustle
the window blows
I long to bustle with the trees with the wind
I hear chords playing
a kind of tune
with which the human spirit is illuminated from the core,
bathed in sunlight
like concrete and grass
Oh, what a gift to be...