Drifting Off

"Peepers," I whisper.  "Hear them."
You open your sleepy eyes and smile:  "Spring."
You return to your rest,
And I close my eyes, too.

Across the leafless woods
On fire in the light of this leafless afternoon
Come the percussive notes
Of the woodpecker,
Returned and hungry,
To establish the beat
Of this restive music of life

As we drift off.

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