Up gusts the wind, leaves tumble down ~
Yellow, purple, red, brown.
Still lies the wind and blue the sky
And barest branches shiver high,
Their lovely garments under foot,
Sinking slowly into root,
Into darkness, into death,
Quiet as a winter breath.
Then snow becomes their winter dress,
Covering the nakedness.
Beneath the breath, beneath the root,
Up through the trunk, the branch, the shoot ~
The leaves return to clothe again
The shivering branches all in green.
Ah, lovely trees! Why complain
Of cutting wind and chilling rains?
After months of wearing green,
You should rejoice to be a queen
Arrayed in purple, gold and red,
With veils of blue sky overhead.
And when again your raiment goes
Whipped by wind, beneath your toes,
Consider not your naked woes;
Remember you are growing clothes.