Winter Trees

The final leaf has fallen. Now along the street

the trees are darkly pencilled with snow about their feet,

sternly at attention through the cold they rise,

tall unbending sentinels against the winter skies.

Often I remember how they guarded me,

as I walked in summer beneath their canopy.

Now the empty branches cannot shield from snow;

still they guard a promise for those who walk below.

All the bitter season curl within their veins

little leaves for opening down the April lanes.