Some days rest is best.
Stress surrounds our daily grind.
Pillows soften all.
Spring shall bloom again.
Snows will melt, the roosters crow.
Frame that very thought.
Today is bitter cold.
Those cruel winds are extra bold.
So we bury deep in hay,
knowing snows should melt away.
Yet tomorrow will be bright.
Spring’s return’s again in sight.
Pushing open those old barn doors,
we’ll kick up our hooves, then dance some more.
Autumn’s gentle days.
Fashioned soon with coats of white.
Wool, our winter’s gift.
Innocent? Not quite.
Ask the herd, they’ll tell the tale.
Secrets never hold.
Peaceful as the morn.
Bringing joy to all who wake.
Each day is a gift.
Gentle as she’s good.
Sunday’s girl is full of grace.
Watching over all.