Treasure Island

David Wood

(07 April 1950 / London)

Winter's Mask


Naked, the tree looked perplexed,
Self-conscious. Its leaves had long
Gone, fallen to the ground creating
A carpet now mashed to pieces.

Its branches pointed to the sky
Accusing the sun of being cold.
Winter had put its overcoat on,
Deep cold permeated frozen ground.

The tree cast its shadow over the lake
Where a crane stood motionless, waiting
For its date to swim by while swans
Shivered in the cold February day.

Cormorants regretted getting up
Wishing they had stayed in bed.
So the cold grey day began to make
Its mark on nature all around.

Autumn had retired and winters mask
Forged cold windy days with little food
Survival was the order of the day
Until they could dance again at the
Spring and summer ball.

Submitted: Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, March 26, 2013

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