From my back porch
Exposed branches dip, wave and weave,
Trees are ashamed without their summer leaves.
Silhouettes of willows shiver and dance
to nature’s brush of ice and snow.
Summer flowers are netted in frost;
frozen threads descend from eaves.
Sharp, quick air sweeps and scrubs,
sparrow’s nests are ice embossed.
Across the glebe, vacancy greets my swing.
Faded with age its rope slumped and frayed,
splintered seat bows to windy whorls.
Within serenades of stillness,
I hear white silence of the snow,
tearful willows nod to winter ice.
By Marilyn (firstname.lastname@example.org)