Poets

Soaring up, caught by a draught, Up more, up again, as I soared I laughed. There I am down there, the other one of me.

It's the time of year when the sun begins to turn down, The leaves start turning, they fall then they're blown. Each day is shorter, each night a little long, Quite soon at midnight we'll hear the midday bird song.

I hear your voice sometimes now, It's in the wind when it blows right through. I hear your voice daily now, There's no mistaking that sound quite true.