Draped against the setting sun is the
black silhouette of a tree without leaves.
In the late autumn he is bare, like
a skeleton, quivering in the breeze.
Upon his limbs perch the birds, gathered
to provide their friend with good company.
But when the season becomes too cold
they retreat to where they will be kept warmly.
Forgotten, then, he will stand amidst the
open field, unnoticed by all who happen passed.
And not until the air is warmed will
his friends return, singing of sunniness.
The tree is alone when seasons
are cold, and cherished when seasons are warm.
He must learn to brave the winter while
standing there, frigid, naked, twisted, torn.
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Author:
chasing_sunsets (
Offline) - Published: August 3rd, 2021 00:00
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 18
- User favorite of this poem: Accidental Poet.
Offline)
Comments3
That tree will always be there and come to life in Spring. Good words.
Welcome to MPS
Thank you!
Brave it and survive it
so that someday
We may get a chance
to Thrive: Despite - it...
(a good read, thanks for sharing)
Thank you, and I love your poetic response!
I'm mostly a Spring and Summer sort, but there is a stark beauty in Winter's effect on the world we see. And you acknowledge that so well here cs. 😉
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