I walk upon fragile frosted fescue

Among stone-cold limestone men, alert to frozen time.

Stalwart crosses in Celtic poses

Flanked by icy benches standing guard.

I spy leaves lift like frightened birds

From white oak branches, rise into cerulean sky,

While praraie grasses bob and weave in cliques

Whispering urgent news; leaves tumble overhead

Then settle into long grasses beyond me.