To Everything a Season
She is exposed,
the last of her finery
released by a cold snap,
leaves in a cluster blown
by a winter born breeze
stirring in the shadows
Paying homage, she bows
fairly kneeling before
the approaching winter solstice,
and flushed with victory,
though seemingly defeated,
begins to weep
For she knows
her restoration lies
in the transient spring
Copyright © Monica Smith | Year Posted 2005
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