Andy Waddington [CC BY-SA 2.0], via Wikimedia Commons

The near trees bent by wind, ice and snow
bowing to the master, the icy winter beast
waiting silently in the cold fastness of the ice
for the sun to shed its warming rays once more
making the landscape, pristine in sharpness

snow deep, swirled by the harsh northern wind
the wisps of the storm clouds sail eloquently
over, across the sky, beyond my snow blind eyes
dimly heard moans of the remnants of the storm
bowed the saplings low, cracked the older oaks

the sky gradually lightens from the deep black
gray to faintest of blues, a palette of painted hues
as the sun rises, high above, clearing the last wisps
shredded bits continue onward, flying ever east

’round the world the high jet stream flows, pushing
changing ever over, the seasons, warm to cold
as the trees in the landscape, faithfully waiting
for the thaw, a promise of life renewed come spring

Once more, seasons ebb and flow with serenity of ages

Categories: Poetry