Winter

A tree so silent in the midst of bare branched fall
Its limbs tremble buffeted by winter's wind
Its bark sweats cold beads of nervous perspiration
Weakened by the winter chill

It has no way to run, rooted to the spot as though in fear
Held by strong earth; a captive of cruel fortune
No birds to sing comfort to it in its time of need
No sun to caress its naked fragility

The spring it beckons with desperate silent calls
Hoping for everything and nothing at all
The wind's whisper killing it softly
Red hot frostbite razor sharp

Sap leaking from new found sores
Sour syrup-like tears of need
For a gentle healing hand it hopes
To find within the wind's cruel breath

Believing there is warmth enveloped there