she wears her halo
as La Luna,
neath her hazy filtered light,
stark silhouette stands
his limbs outreaching,
he blacker than this frigid night.
the bitter brunt of winter,
wears its coat
on bark and boughs and branches,
white wrought and crystalline.
his roots give him iron anchor,
anchor him to terra firma,
and here he shall stand,
stand the cold of winter
until spring begs he bud again.
Björn at dVerse has us writing of trees – love those luscious things!
I feel a bit guilty entering here as I haven’t read all others responses to Thursdays prompt – as yet.. Mega – but mega- problems with PC continue – the constant need to reboot same and router and that the keyboard appears to have developed a very strong-willed life of its own are driving me nuts!
A click to dVerse from blog list took over two minutes to load - same problem when clicking onto links – hence visiting others is taking time and typing comments does too. So apologies are due!
Image: Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
Author: Ævar Arnfjörð Bjarmason
Erm, just previewed and I don't know where the white background hails from...