Ah, there they are — The skeleton trees

Towering structures barren of leaves

No more growth, no orange or green

Ugly and bleak, how I like them to be

Cause it blends so well, with the cold, harsh sun

The very one that I grew up on

New England winter, bleach-dried hellscape

Manifold forests of death and decay

Still, they stand- wiry and tall

Sturdy things, loathe to fall

Waiting for God’s crystalline tears

To adorn their form, til they are beautiful once more

Christopher Hartman

Voluntown

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