Last years' cherry tree is quivering bare.
Her leaves undressed, we stop and stare.
The cold is chewing at her bark, gnarling and twisting at her.
She mourns the skylark passing by.
Upon the wings of summer lost, those magical summer days.
The flowers of springtime they once lived beneath the safety of her roots.
Now, in a strange retraction they creep back in their bulbs and corms.
Hiding safely,  they're all secure from the  forthcoming storms.

The sullen eccentric female, wears her moth-eaten fur coat.
Just to beat the cold outside but, she's hiding inside.
Spying out the window.
In the corner at the back of the room, her resting husband met his doom.
She can't bear to let him go.
How long has he been there?
Nobody knows.
She goes about her business, chattering incessantly.
She's gassing about the weather, the price of fish.
In front of him his meal, remains untouched upon his dish.
It's getting dark, she feels the chill.
After parking a kiss on his icy lips.
Off to bed she creeps.
He's sitting there, still.
A blanket resting on his lap, to keep him nice and snug.
Cold coffee, complete with a film of congealed milk.
Cosy as a bug in a rug.
(C) Livvi