Winter Trees

Roots slumber in the deep

As snow and ice fashion

Fingers and frozen jackets

On gray and spindled branches

What a day to be a tree

No having to juice the leaves

No woodpeckers or wasps

Just frost and silence

With maybe a squirrel or two

Hunting seeds and bird feeders

The twigs cradle the wind

With bending and waving

The sun soothes its tips

And feeling grateful for rest

It stands in stoicism

Until the riot of spring

 

© 2018 Valerie Hathaway

 

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