I think someone told a joke to the trees,

they are laughing and swaying, falling about on their knees.

They pause for a break, sway gently as if in Tete-a-Tete.

In unison bow their heads, whisper opaque.


A sudden explosion of unremitting tremulous,

chuckling quietly, and shooting the breeze,

Akin to Marineros  on a ship, in a calm sea

aimlessly drifting , timeless and free.


A mistral gust, inward rush, leaves flutter,

on branch'es robust, Summers vigour enjoyed

before an autumnal retreat,

leafless and bare, at Winters feet.


                By Holly Barrett