The Coming Winter

A little Bird flew south one day, Leaving fields of golden hay. The field, a blanket, wide and deep, Where summer secrets used to sleep. With poppies red and corn so tall, Now whispering, awaiting fall.

A tiny Child, with eyes so bright, Played in the field with all their might. Chasing butterflies, a joyful sound, As summer's magic spun around. But a chilling breeze began to blow, A secret only field mice know.

Then, one soft morning, white and still, A blanket covered every hill! Snowflakes danced, a swirling grace, Upon the Child's surprised, sweet face. The field, transformed, a dazzling sight, Covered in diamonds, pure and bright.

The Bird, now far across the sea, Remembered fields so wild and free. The Child, so bundled, warm and snug, Watched snowflakes flutter, then gave a hug To the silent field, now hushed and white, For winter's coming, with all its might!