A Tree On Winter's Night
In
grace,
now seen
a verdant tree,
its trunk and limbs
splayed in the round,
perfect radial symmetry.
Were nature absent intellect
might such majesty e'er result—
accidental tour de force as eons pass,
acolytes of chaos then, gathered to exult?
Boughs' burden, scalloped snow of purest white.
Myriad sparkles glint in full moon’s vivid winter light.
Wind
sways,
a polonaise.
Elysian sight. Halcyon night.
Click on the "About this poem" link above for some additional thoughts.
Copyright © Mark Peterson | Year Posted 2013
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