Comment on this article

by Cindy M Hutchings

Barren, black skeletons
stand against gray sky

stooped, twisted with gnarly curves

they pluck low hanging clouds
flail stark appendages

at creeping winter mist
rising from the river

beneath their petrified bones

all the while
longing, yearning, craving
the warm, wet touch
of Spring

that returns them

   the land
            of the living.

Return to:

[New] [Archives] [Join] [Contact Us] [Poetry in Motion] [Store] [Staff] [Guidelines]