Winter Tree Poem by James Still

A lot goes on behind my back.
A row of icicles pulling at the eaves
Grew three inches before I thought to look;
A snow falling an evening through
Contrived knee-depth before I knew.
I see what's done. The doing is concealed.
Things happen I know nothing of,
But once I saw a walnut shed her leaves
All in haste, within a half hour's time,
And shift her season, become a winter tree,
Stand bare of foliage and her body free,
The last bough stark, the farthest twig revealed.
A lot goes on while my head is turned,
And nobody bothers to watch and hallo 'Look! '