A tree leans against the ash-grey sky.
Shed of its adorning, flattering blossoms,
winter has stripped its vanity;
crooked branches,
uneven limbs,
tangled arms,
reach out in mute supplication.
The swirling, biting,
chasing, chastising wind
brings it to humble homage,
a perpetually frozen bow.
But amidst this resignation,
new growth
and infused promise
bide their time.