I Write Poetry

the trees are all in mourning,
for the lovely leaves they lost,
the tears they cry in lament,
so quickly turn to frost,
and though things look dreary,
fogged in a haze of gloom,
mother nature is filled with magic,
slowly growing in her womb,
seeds long to bud and sprout,
flowers yearn to bloom in spring,
robins dreaming to return,
aching to spread their wings.
things hide in the solstice of winter,
like ivy beneath the snow,
hearths warmed by fires,
cottages alight with their glow,
the sun so early to set,
and moon so ready to rise,
it's easy to forget this isnt death,
but rebirth in disguise.