Along with stories, I have for most of my life, enjoyed writing poetry. Some ok, some bad, some terrible, and once in a long while, a winner. You be the judge, and please leave constructive feed back.

Friday, November 30, 2012

Midwinter Beech

Midwinter Beech
Shriveled, brown,
Wrinkled and dry,
Shivering at the wind
And a slate gray sky.

The leaves have held,
Though few remain.
Whispering of a life
They can’t regain

Branches nearly bare
Naked and stark
With cold and lifeless
Gray-green bark

The beeches stand
In the forest and wait
Through frozen nights
And bitter days

Soon warm days
Will begin to dawn
Promising spring
Will not be long.

But today the wind
The clouds and rain
Promise only more cold
And bitter pain

©James L. Frady, January 2009

Written during a hunting trip on a cold dreary day when I happened upon a beech tree still clinging to a few remaining shriveled leaves which were shivering in the wind.  

1 comment:

  1. Great alliteration. It paints a picture for those who were not there. Glad to know that mine is not the only mind that wanders that way during a hunt. It provides a new (or old) justification to be alone in the woods with a wander not only the meandering paths through the wood, but also those in your mind. Well written.