Mother Nature

The silent winds through a willow tree
Form a shape so very simply.

It twists and twirls with a mother’s hand
As she combs and shapes her infant’s sand.

A creatures head emerges from the pile
Floating in the air, forming for a while.

Till softly a fawn floats to the grass
And walks clean as crystal glass.

The mother smiles with a wishful sigh
And turns to watch father time nigh.