Greta

Who will tend our bones, listening to the rain, does a river run alone, let our song ring, on suburban trains, birds we hear sing, herring gulls that soar, we maybe see again, hear their eerie moans, their cry a broken thing, these September days, driving before the sea, swore we’d never go, just to count our gains, birds already know, struggling with everything, they always find a way, drain summer’s softening, before autumn stays .