With each drop of snow, the bough would straighten
A little closer to its former height
In short increments like the stiff back of
An old peddler who had just let down his
Pack. And the sun reflected like shaved glass
Off the boughs heavy with snow that broke loose
In the field of white to unwrap more green
And to fall in clumps like comets followed
By a tail of drifting powder. The green
Struggling to hold to life in the frozen
Desert of white. Life more beautiful and
Mysterious, the evergreens had a
Natural giftwrap decorated to
Rival the pale imitation held so
Proudly decapitated in my home
Rooted in piles of consumer goods.
therichardbraxton 