Winter whitened branches of frosted fingers
reach up toward the snow stuffed clouds
to pull down billowy blankets to insulate
the sleepy tree that has earned a seasons rest,
awaiting the return of the sun’s zenith
to spring forth again in greening growth,
gaining the height of summer’s glory
before ripening into autumn’s red-gold
glory of harvest, then aging into wrinkled,
withered leaves falling from brown fingers
that reach skyward searching for clouds.
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