The Many-Wintered Trees

a first frost poem

By Gabriel HuizengaPublished 10 months ago • Updated 10 months ago • 1 min read

I stand beside a few of the many-wintered trees

who seem to have just remembered

they ought to get dressed for colder days.

Mother nature is preparing to give out alabaster coats

from her upstairs winter closet

of little white numbers with silver linings.

The copse has just tried out a cautious new perfume

of clean, piney petrichor

turned crisp as bracken, brittle and bare.

All the world puts on an air of chilly nonchalance

stagnant, still, in the first stage

of grieving another autumn's passing.

I stand beside a few of the many-wintered trees

only to ask after the root

of how to weather a season's shift.

Twas for love of words that I first joined this site:

Poetry, especially, and dear short stories too;

For to live one's best is to read, and to write!

So find me in words here, and I'll find you 💙

Thanks for stopping by! :)

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