…to be erased

A moonless night
the mournful songs of unseen crows
there are no shadows, just a deep undivided darkness
a time for memories and sweet melancholy
trees whisper their secrets to the wandering wind
each fragile leaf released has its own story to tell
as it pirouettes, voiceless in perfect circles
a silent symphony of pain
their history destined to be erased
by the wild waves of winter, the circular nature of the seasons
the unrelenting inevitability that what is created
will grow in its time or falter if the fates decree
there will be new blossoms and fragrance all around
the trees will flaunt their canopies
only to grieve their losses when all is falling and crumbling to dust
petals will cherish the sun until their colours fade
as fade they must, returning to the earth in the nature of all things
winter’s wing, unseen and silent
swoops in like a carrion bird, seeking its prey
never the predator, but the hunter of unclaimed remains
burying all signs of life under its bleak, colourless cloak
a strange frozen beauty, nothing to see, nothing to hear
but for the songs of ice, carried upon the cold winds
a place of endless twilight cold and pale, as if in the grip of death
but beneath this ghostly terrain the signs of life remain
even in the darkness
remembering the warm touch of the sun
and the gentle caress of the rain
aching to feel the moonlight again, dreaming of their blooming
trusting the circles of life, that will bring them back to the surface
in their seasons
where once more their threads will be woven
into the vast tapestry of life
© Ann Bagnall