Sunday, February 22, 2009


The ghostly silhouettes of trees
accentuate the current clime,
so gaunt and lifeless in the breeze
devoid of leaves destroyed by rime
their bony limbs morosely mime

a tale of winter’s woeful span
when dreary dirges tend to loom
until the lively tune of Pan
accompanies the welcome boom
of thunder, calling buds to bloom.


Noah the Great said...

Never forced, always excellent.

rch said...

aw shucks