What to say of winter?
I thought this as I passed
The three tall trees beside me
Standing leafless on the grass

Their succession lighted my eyes
As the maple cast its gold,
The middle long remained,
While the oak clung fast in cold.

Her deadened leaves descended
Some time beyond the rest
And still she stands there grasping
At what was once her best.

I couldn’t help but wonder
As summer blew in fall
And cold is now upon me,
How ought I think this all?

For if the days are written
Before the man is born,
How then can we question,
The proceedings of his form?

I do say much of winter,
And welcome in her cold
For like the tall oak tree,
My strength is in repose