Sunday, March 24, 2013

Stoic Trees

I've always admired the bones of trees
Dark in the winter against the sky
Bowing stiffly before the breeze,
Scratching the wind as it brushes by.
They long for leaves, I'm sure of that
But they stand in silence, aloof and gray
Enduring the cold, and the bare, bald shame
Waiting for resurrection day.