Waiting To Be Strewn

Below cool cotton rippled sky pale Barren limbs hang so helpless in the mild gale Sunlight dances before it sleeps Early winter’s calling for all to keep Afternoon’s beams strike the trees They look like icicles twinkling in the breeze Mute brown colors surrounds the landscape Parched and dry soil twists up in a tunnel shape All that was full of life has now passed Tarnished and waiting for snow to blanket and contrast Pieces of debris waving in the brushwood As the first flakes fall on all where it stood And shall be graced with beauty in time With the pings of mother natures frozen white chime