The wind is their lover
She plucks leaves like
secrets undressing
them in cold passion
Leaves never knowing
when she will return
bestows the world
with her gifts of perfume
The trees know
they will never see
with her eyes so she
wraps them in chilling
embraces before departing
yet again returning
more frequently now
to caress their brittle
limbs as crimson drains
from their blood Standing
still as the sirens
of her bosom sing
To cover their bodies
Only rouses her desire