Sequins on an old dress,
The last of autumn leaves,
Danced on
The ends of the branches.
The green doesn’t crowd us.
But when it turns golden
And twists and falls like a thousand swirling dervishes
In the autumn wind
It gives way to a view of the white and brilliant mountain
Through gnarled limbs
Vacant and seemingly hopeless limbs
Dormant until the green pushes back out
To embrace us in its verdant prison.
© M.R.Hyde 2021
See artwork by M.R. Hyde on Redbubble.
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The Struggle
Geese struggling sideways
In the winter wind
Cannot call to one another.
It is too strong.
Winter Branches
Some branches are as black as coal.
Others orange and taupe.
Then others, yet—as most of them—
Are brown and brown and browns.
All look lifeless, look cold and stiff,
Look like corpsey death.
All look like kindling ready for
A fiery fireside blaze.
Like winter branches, bleak are we,
Orange, brown and black.
We are not near to death just now
And drink in winter’s sun.
Spring Storm
Snowflakes fall
In our spring storm
Large and floating
As underwater detritus
Stirred by toes
Pushing off into deeper water.
© M.R. Hyde 2021
