A Trojan Course

Winter comes to steal all the color There is a plan yet to discover As The cold begins to raid the night The sun withdraws its warming light The fruit more colorful, so also the turning leaves As the frost attacks these, Color hides in root and seed Winter seems to have the upper hand As leaves and fruit take a last stand They fall to the ground withered and brown The treasure of color buried in the cold ground As winter celebrates the death of life, It is a small sacrifice For the army of color is now hidden and ready to fight