Leaves fall,
Like tears from
Branches,
With an indifferent majesty
Regal grace,
A feeling of sadness
Overcomes,
At the thought
Of a cold
Winter’s chill,
Creeping upon them
As Winter’s solace
Approaches,
Shivering with
Anticipation,
Of icy fingers clawing
At their bark,
Of snow,
Layering upon them
With a heaviness,
Bowing their weary
Trunks,
Praying to their mother,
That they’re strong enough
For this burden,
To make it
One more cycle,
To not break under
Winter’s
Onslaught,
And make it through,
To another,
Beautiful
Spring.
Poem by Robert Armstrong
Robert Armstrong is a writer from the Hudson Valley in Upstate New York. A former bookseller, his poetry’s been published in ARTLESS & NAKED, MOCKING HEART REVIEW, LAST LEAVES, and will be in upcoming issues of THE GOLDEN WALKMAN, THE PAPER DRAGON, and SAN FEDELE PRESS/AMERICAN WRITERS REVIEW. He’s currently working on poetry chapbooks, short stories and a fantasy novel.