TREES

There they stand bare and cold

The wind has stolen their finery

Creating a beautiful carpet of gold

A wondrous sight for the eye to behold.

They are not dead but just asleep

Somehow they know the cycle to keep

And come the spring they’ll show their hand

As one by one across the land

A myriad of greens appear

And with their strength they’ll show

No fear of gales and storms and

Wind and rain - it is their time.

The summer months go slipping by

June , July , August, September

Autumn arrives once again

And once again it’s time to surrender

To Brown, Red, Russet and Gold

The days grow short, the air is cold

And beneath the wondrous carpet of gold

They sleep again.

May Riach