Ah, see how the trees huddle together
bundled against the chilled winter sun,
defined by the clouds, low over their heads.
The well-meaning are shadowed beneath
the far-reaching, those facing the heat.
Soaking up what little warmth they can,
bracing themselves against coming storms.
History repeats itself, as we have all seen
premonitions, the end of long seasons.
There is no reasoning with unreasonable forces,
they see nothing of the trees for the forest.

This entry was posted in Poetry.

3 comments on “Seasons

  1. Thatguy707 says:


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