As mistress Autumn reaches up
to strip the proud gnarled oak
of his summer's green embellishment,
at her feet, his golden cloak, he spreads
before the elements of a cruel cold whisper
drips from the frigid tongue
of a coming winter's wind whipped promise
to cut the curled up legs from his sleeping
children's snowdrop springtime dance beneath his heavy boughs...
soon he'll sleep happy, with sap sealed leafless dreams
until spring's wide yawn and smile is upon him
once again,
and his roots are the safe nursery walls where his snowdrop children sing another summer's welcome song
