TREES IN WINTER
Winter reveals
The trees’ inner nature,
Like x-rays showing
Their intricate systems
Spread out like veins,
Nerves and bones.
No leaves to mask their age.
Young trees, slender branches
Lifting straight into the sky,
As if in prayer or celebration.
Older trees, thicker branches
Some bowed, knotty, amputations,
Arteries eaten by unseen invaders;
In their upper reaches, squirrel and bird
Nests appear as cancerous growths.
And then there are the dead trees,
Obese, torn trunks, bark like peeling skin,
Branches akimbo, some detached
Resting in their neighbors arms.
Like monuments, crosses.
These trees tell a tale of the final days,
The ravaging we all face in the end.
By David Allen
Type Dancing 