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
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