“In an instant it seemed they dropped them to the ground...”

The signal sent.

The nights falling a cold

That lingered into day.

The birch trees understood.

Their summer clothes of green

Exchanged for coats

Of many colors,

Must now be shed.

In an instant, it seemed,

They dropped them to the ground.

Spurred on by wind and rain.

They stood for all to see,

Naked and proud and beautiful,

Waiting for the fullness of winter

To lay snow across their bare boughs.

White on white on white.

But not the tree I call my own.

Hanging on to remnants

Now curled up

And turned to brown,

She stands

Stubborn, modest, defiant.