The bones of the trees creak,
Brittle and white in the fickle light.
The skeletal remains of the woods,
Hollowed out like a carcass
By the winds that howl through.
It is a song, the wood and the wind,
At this time of year. A song of abandon –
The trees shed their leaves like the dress
Of a lover in a moment of passion.
Only to be left naked, shivering alone
With the ghosts in pale winter’s mourning.
© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.