Bristles bare and leafless
While the air, though bitter, still cycles and swirls,
From the pulls of those leaves recently tumbled,
Such weight from their great mothers, relieved.
And so, thick the air is, with whipping rain,
Cutting into the smiles of any exposed faces
Like fangs, and hurriedly, as if late for their next stride,
They miss what beauty exists, and above their eyes resides,
Though wicked bristles are bare and leafless,
Each bears a diamond, from the fluttering rain, and so,
A thousand diamonds do I see on each tree,
While a thousand people yearn to be free,
But that, already, is what they are,
Rippling in the eye of the great twilight star,
Ever so fair is the light from its stare,
And heavenly air though bitter and bare,
Gives us life, as each day, it is there,
Not afar...