AUTUMN'S CLOAK


They're gone.
Autumn's quiet cloak,
Upon the waters stilled.
No feathered friends,
No quack is heard.
No wake of v-shaped water seen.
Along the edge its branches stilled
The weeping willow waits,
To once again
Protect its feathered friends.
No tracing quiet circle
In the water seen,
As feathered heads dart to and fro.
The lonely log,
No feathered body perched thereon.
But wait:
It is just asleep,
Until the morrow brings the spring.
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I love to write. Most of my writing is non-fiction dealing with prehistoric societies. Their amazing monuments and their animal mythology and sky lore. I try to write in simple everyday language hoping to attract people who would, otherwise, find history dull.

I also write about current wildlife, mostly about little-known species. It is my desire to educate and convince people to help save our environment and the various creatures that inhabit this world.

www.barbarasilverman.ca