Spring.
The Trees.
Green, with everlasting beauty.
They hold the very life we breath.
The sound of their rustling leaves, apaisant.
They stretch up to the sky, reaching high.
The most free of all their kind, éclatant.
They leave behind the most peaceful state of mind.

Winter.
The Snow.
It arrives from thin air, blocking out the blue of the sky, étouffer.
Lightly landing on the leaves of our Trees.
Softly singing what seems to be a lullaby, vouloir amadouer.
In truth they **** away the soul.
Frozen and dry, it takes its toll.
Bearing the weight of their sworn enemy, the Trees pray for an extremity.
Another year ends with agony, the Snow glittering with all its glory.

Vaincu