Trees aren't bare;
they're cuddly:
pull down any branch;
it's buddly.
At the flourish of each dark gesture
are fingers tipped with bombs
to detonate when the spring comes.
Bare trees, schmeez!
Stripped for action!
Just bide a while
for satisfaction.
Ah. Amuse yourselves.
Do something with elves
(like Christmas and New Year)
Then get down and squabble -
fight with axes through the sheer
grey slog of February's hard bubble,
cabin-fever to consume you. Why!
It's spring will really make you cry.
.......
YOU ARE READING
Winter Trails
PoetryWinter Trails is an album of my poems, journeying through late fall when the wire of the trees begins to dominate, till the end of January. After promoting it and it soaring to three quarter million reads, Wattpad unceremoniously dumped it. Here it...
