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Trees in Winter
By W.E. Dion, Terryville
When winter forth its icy pennons flings,
And snowflakes dot a dull, foreboding sky,
The sun rests low against the southern rim,
And migratory birds to southward fly.
Those that remain defend against the cold,
As feathers fluff and furs the thicker grow,
While others burrow into mother earth,
To seek the warmth that she has stored below.
Some creatures find themselves a cozy den,
Where cold can't penetrate and break their sleep.
With trees, it's just the other way around,
They doff their raiment, and their stations keep.
With naked limbs they taunt at winter's chill,
And spread their branches to the hostile skies,
Commend their precious sap to warmer earth,
Until a vernal sun comes, bids it rise.
Its warming rays restore to active life,
The ones who winter's rigors have survived,
The calling flocks on altered courses fly,
And shedding, molting seasons have arrived.
But then, the errant trees again rebel,
With roots revived by spring's refreshing rain,
Their erstwhile-naked limbs, now newly clothed,
In verdant costume, greet the spring again.
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