It snowed
Then it rained,
And we felt like we’d been cheated.
The raindrops froze,
Encasing every hillside and meadow
With an icy glaze
In a crystal coffin.
The trees bore the brunt
Of this wintry mix
As they stood with their arms raised
In defiance
Of the storm.
But weather is a despot
Undeterred by wood or will.
The next day
Our land sits glowing
But browbeaten.
Trees, young and old, are forced
To bow in submission
As they groan under the weight
Of winter’s tyranny.
A gang of grey clouds
Is storming in from the west
With their weapons loaded and ready.
We watch from our window
While we wait and wonder,
“Can these arms sustain
Their resistance
Until they can rise again
With the sunlight?”