Day 12: Peace Poetry Postcard Month

There is a song, an answer to be found in the wind.

Sharp winter wind
brushes across my face,
its softness a contrast
to its ice.

Dry leaves clinging,
clacking as I pass
under their bony canopy.

Bremen sniffs the air,
an urgent whine to move on
under the gray day firmament.

In the peace of my silent voice,
I listen.

No explanation needed.