Mistress Of The Wood

The oak has cast its highest leaf, defining year’s Fall season

Its drifting course and random flight bereft of plan or reason

Seen by gyring hawk as it patrols the forest’s skies

The earth receives the offering with no fanfare or surprise.

Joining all its brethren on ground’s carpet, edges curled

To hawk above, its eye sees Mother Nature’s flag unfurled.

Around oak’s trunk the earthy gems might seem a scattered mess

But artful eyes would see it as a train for wedding dress

Bright orange beside the rusty reds laid over muddy browns

The oak’s trousseau, completed, just one more of Nature’s gowns.

Awaiting Winter’s suitors who approach on frosty steeds

Scattered acorns making up a dowry, all she needs.

First snow falls as wedding gift, a blanket, ermine white

Draped upon bare shouldered oak whose branches hold it tight

Stately form enduring knight of Winter’s harsh embrace

While waiting for the Prince of Spring to show his warming face.

Forever fickle bride, she treats the courtiers as she should

Aloof and yet respectful, she’s the mistress of the wood.

By James Geehring

From: United States

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