A golden wreath of falling leaves
is curling from the fozen trees.
The season blows and chills
the forest, in winter deep
all go to sleep.

Through banks and frozen walls
the trees bow, with a choir of sound;
deep the forest resonates
with ghostly mist’s,
and forgotten roots.

Winter swallowed the forest whole
with its gaping white mouth.

**© 2017 By Amanda Shelton