Winter's Domain

The leaves are the first to go,

As winter's chill presses on,

Barren trees expect the snow.

On our hands our breath we blow,

Settling in for icy naps,

The leaves are the first to go.

We hear the cawing of crows,

Windows frosted over now,

Barren trees expect the snow.

Chimney smoke curls upward slow,

Telling all we’re safe and snug,

The leaves are the first to go.

We sit and talk, maybe sew,

Under a heavy blanket,

Barren trees expect the snow.

Winter puts on quite a show,

Picture postcard in our yard,

The leaves are the first to go,

Barren trees expect the snow.

©November 14, 2009 / Jerry Pat Bolton