Winter’s Come

Red rises in the light of a waning sun.

Dusk conquers the sky, silent and proud,

Before Lady Moon rides her darkness

And claims her throne once more.

From the ground, forests watch the game

Repeated nightly, predictable,

Before turning their eyes inward.

The ground covering their twining roots

Is warmed by bloodied leaves

Dropped from the skyward limbs.

Night’s Queen bids forth the cold

And sends the westward wind howling in the eerie calm.

Fall drifts away, hand in hand with Father Time,

And passes Winter, serene under a clock of frost.

The forests shiver with the change,

Watch drying leaves, rust, crumple, disintegrate.

Dawn sounds the trumpet charge,

Ahead of Lord Sun on his sea of blue,

And chases Lady Moon past the horizon once more.

The trees turn their eyes inward, closing them tight,

Its time to slumber, despite warming rays of light.

 

 

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