Banked in trust
Squirrels in the branches rustling the leaves,
Scurrying up the trunks of the horse-chestnut trees,
Lightly dancing through autumn’s browning shroud,
From branch to branch, thin branches bowed.
Hunting through the leaf litter, gathering the nuts,
Through the furrows, ditches and cuts,
Head on a swivel, survival’s a must,
Autumn’s bountiful harvest banked in trust.
The cycle of life roaring against the age,
Before winter arrives with its icy cold cage,
Transforming the landscape, hiding the bank,
Its fingers grasping, tugging the veil.
Where once existed deep reds, yellows and browns,
White has taken over and frosted the ground.
Many will live but others will perish,
Before springtide appears and winter is vanquished.
New life arrives in bitter green shoots,
And once again scuttling come reds and greys,
The gnawing, the nibbling, the reconnaissance of trees,
The cycle repeats as seasons march on.
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