On Trees

When this wind blows

Things sound different

After the leaves have dropped

To mosaic the floor.

~

This wind bends through the bared boughs

Divides to draughts between the trunks

Blows low notes from the wood

Makes this place an instrument

For mournful tunes

~

When we hear this hollow overture

Howling from beeches and birches

We can be certain winter approaches

~

CLP 27/10/2020

Published by

Christopher Perry

Liberté, Equalité, Humanité