A thousand million tentacles
Reaching skyward toward the sun,
Laid bare against the winter sky,
The summer's tale undone.
Where once the hue of green and gold
Stood succulent and lush,
A nakedness abides amidst
The frigid snow and slush.
Winter trees are stark, foreboding,
Knowing no defeat.
They reach out to the sun in hope,
Like beggars in the street.
Waiting for the gentle spring,
The kindness of a friend,
To give its warmth and sustenance
And bring it life again.
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