Sweet Apple Tree

In the Spring the bark bursts
Unfurling crumpled white handkerchiefs
Which look longingly to the sun
Awaiting the eager bees
The dewdrop mirror
The satin soft caress of the breeze

In the Summer she shows
Her best side to the sky
With a sigh her duty toils
Producing a perfect sweet
Blush skinned apple

In the Autumn she has given
Up her leaves to rot and curl
To gnawing caterpillar teeth
Drooped low to the dank aging
Disspated grass

In the Winter she waits
Hidden inside a frosty sheath
Pooling her resources
Preparing her smile behind the snow
To Spring foward afresh

The Snow Angel

The Snow Angel
The sun splintered the regimental trees 
Shattering silence as she ran 
Further towards a frozen past 
Cold hearted in her knitted leggings 
Scissored angels wings when she fell 
Leaving only ragged frosty breath 
And icicles 
Laying in the snow