TREES desperately shake, inviting arctic winds, that have ruffled polar bear hair,
Wondering why the leaves have yet to fall.
Lime, dirty golden and red,
Gravity whispers, it is time.
Time to be blown through cobbled streets,
Dry, desolate, breaking apart under foot.
The clothing has gone, only Spring can restore the modesty.
One.
Leaf.
At.
A.
Time.
LionAroundWriting 
this is great! I love the “restore the modesty” bit!
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Many thanks 😉 🙂
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I’m wondering if we’re ever going to get Spring in the UK this year!
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I know! Its warmer but not long until dark days lighten.
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I love this! Great pictograph. I see me. 😉 You, too. Good write! Cheerz, Uncle Tree
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