Set against the cool breeze,

Set against the cool breeze,
On a street,
Swept by morning's dream,
I stand quiet
Watered golden by life's wine,
I stand silent,
With blooming lines
White on my branches,
Like a tree almost,
Dressed for a winter,
Hearing chanticleer,
Heralding a season
Of warmth, bonfires, and songs,

Set against the cool breeze
Wrapped in dreams
I inhale a wintry life,
And a few leaves
From me drop and take the wind.