weathercock
break of dawn rooster crows
ushering in wintry winds
twisting and turning atop the barn
singing bye bye american pie
fog rolls in and tractors stay put
weatherworn eyes cautiously shut
waiting for any ultraviolet rays
to jumpstart his lonely heart
nary an audience in sight he croons
anthems and ballads and rhythm & blues
hitting high notes with precision
ofttimes bellowing like a baritone
dealing in world real or imagined
winds come and go without reason
contemplating rain or sunshine
always searching beyond the skyline
august two thousand seventeen
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