The trees droop
despite their lack of leaves
Sunbeams reach in between
and find the place where you and me lay
pressed against each other’s cheeks
Birds skip along bronzed branches
making pinecone dancers
Chorus lines that silently swing in time
to the rhythm of the soft twilight
Breezes move twisted trees
and dried up leaves teeter on the tips of stripped branches
Their quick dances end when their stems are ripped
and the leaves are whipped into misty air
leaving the branches bare
Birds break pods of plants long gone
interrupting each other with chatter and song
Elsa Curtis | I like to write 