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Ronny Self

Winter With a Question

The aging trees will creak and groan
To find themselves ringed by frost in sleep
And snow by the wind already blown
Cast upon snow already deep.

The cold is echoed only by silence all,
And the leaves of Autumn entombed in white
At the place where leaves fall
And passing time, vanish from sight.

Who is it that judges these—
Sends leaves beneath the snow
And trees to shiver alongside trees? —
And where do they go?

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