Once fronded &
frilled, but now of leaf no longer,
Lingering lonesome
& no more virile, nor stronger,
No more shielded
by leaves, but only God´s vows,
Standing alone,
twigs, branches & old winter boughs.
Garbed in beige,
taupe, brown & peeled mottled greys,
Standing silent,
denuded sentinels of long winter days,
Weeping their
dripping sad droplets, of cold icicled tears,
Instilling in the
passing wanderer, icy & irrational fears.
Smooth & slender,
or those of rough & rugged old bark,
Waving under grey skies
& bending arms low after dark,
The winsome whisperings
of their silent vacant voices,
Standing lonesome,
winter trees without any choices.
With the shifting of
sunlight & nature´s soft elegant turn,
New buds burst forth,
birthing leaves of oak, beech & fern,
Leaves, sketched, painted
& daubed, in a myriad of greens,
Now, twigs, branches
& boughs, be-robed & fit to be seen.
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