‘…your hair was bound and wound
About the stars and moon and sun:’
It’s only a matter of time before
the sky’s pristine cerulean darkens,
taunting her with its starry glimmering,
Luna’s empty crescent cup dangling.
Her limbs, once verdant lush, now bristle,
against the sweeping gale of frigid breath,
rendering her naked in the whirlwind,
to face her wintering season alone.
Does she not remember Spring is coming
as it has before, time and time again?
Soon she’ll sense the hopeful aspirations
of bursting buds now dormant ‘neath her skin.
I had taken a photograph of a tree this morning before I read today’s challenge verse. “Her hair”, the tree’s bare limbs barren against the blue. I thought, even when things are growing dark, even when we think everything is coming to an end, there is always something new waiting in the wings. Even in death.
A poem about my tree then for Jane Dougherty’s Day Twenty-Three of ‘A Month With Yeats’ inspired as well, by Yeats’ poem,‘He Wishes His Beloved Were Dead’.