The graying trees of coming Winter
tangle and re-tie.

As a clustered bunch,
they strain to hide
the softened pink and blue
of the setting sky.

Lines across a page, they're like:
the bristling wooden branches,
which the wind, a subtle thing,
wraps around and touches.

But, like me, stay warm inside
and at their very center -

So therefore, a chilling wind
can try but never enter.