I see the shivering leavesof oak,
Beyond the eaves and window pane:
They tremble like in need of cloak,
As winter's chill on them has lain.
Outside upon a limb they cling,
And quiver in the breeze there blowing.
Before the freeze, went others a-wing,
Before the cold, and white of snowing.
In autumnthese had come to sere,
Yet to a branch they still adhere.
were buds in spring of birth,
I feel a
little akin to them,
like that tree with foliage shed,
Copyright © 2005 - John Riedell - All