Beeches

What feat of evolution

makes them hold tightly so?

Unyielding leaves,

shielding sheaves,

loathe of letting go.

Those leaves,

are they departed?

Are they dead,

or stoutly-hearted?

What provokes them

to remain?

Through frigid snow

and freezing rain.

Why did nature

give such a choice?

Soliloquy

in the forest voice.

Leaves in the breeze

are crinkling crisper.

Share their riddles

in icy whisper.

Those ochre ghosts,

when did they fall?

In the noise of Spring

didn't notice at all.

Poem and Photo copyright by Mar Startari, 2017

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Morning Dreams