the limbs are bare
exposed to the elements
vulnerable without
the cover of obvious beauty
shuddering at the slightest breath
and reachout out for shelter
in the season's embrace
swept up in the moment
and carried by the restlessness
of falling over and again

frosty,

Nice piece. good to see you could get it out here,

amo et avanti,

Peter

thanks. you're being kind. we both know it's a little lame

It's not lame at all. In fact, I think it is every bit a poem.

Joe

Thanks, Joe.

Thanks, Joe.