and look into the near-blue sky
scratched by empty limbs 'fore the freeze,
a tapestry of patterns high.
Appreciate the Artist's hand
that created this mosaic
of shapes between the clouds and branch.
Only the poets could say it.
These trees had their Spring and Summer,
a rebirth of life from the Earth.
I, too, found life, woke from slumber
as new love filled my heart with mirth.
Now empty boughs reach to the sky
praying to be covered in leaf
or snow for warmth before they die,
leaving those on Earth to their grief.
Deep within their barren branches
is held the promises of Spring,
but for now no flower dances.
Leaves lost, loves lost, and no joys ring.
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