Winter (LIVE)

A clear winters morning The sky a pale blue I still see the crescent, waining moon The tree boughs are creaking, Cold dew on the ground The chimney smoke rising, In whisp’d white clouds Unearthly twilight, On path’s crimson gold The last breath of summer, Clinging through the gloom The crow is cawing, With carrion song And I hear the songbird Of this November dawn