Look at the towering aspens
On this frigid December day.
Their frosty tops, like the heads of
A whole colony of ancient royalty,
Are gray and fuzzy like
Self-inflicted permanent waves
Yet they still seem regal in their
Sameness and their
But now, the low-skied morning sun
That was causing curly twigs
To glow as if with silver crowns
Has instigated a grand melt.
Even as we watch, the crystals that
Decorated them and
Named them as
Kings and Queens
Have begun to weep
And seep down their limbs.
Eyes made wise by years of reigning
Stare from trunks
Refusing to blink the tears
Out of their lashes.
Instead they let the fresh new water
Run down each wrinkle and crack
Toward its loam-blanketed destination.
With liquid offering
Poured on throne steps,
Renewed strength to
Rule another season or two
© Jennifer McBride, Cape of Leaves
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