The trees can feel it coming
but do not abscise
their leaves from fright foregoing
autumn splendors.
Neither will I.
Gray days and frigid nights
of gently fizzing snow
hold little terror
only time
and time
enough to grow
somnolent and vague
in need of spring which will appear
at its own pace. You see?
The trees can feel it coming.
© 2020 by Hannah Six
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