The trees wear robes of sparkling
White and stretch their bony arms
Towards heaven in silent supplication.
They fear the warmth of summer sun
May never come again.
They wish for blue skies, green grass
The surge of rebirth through their limbs,
The sweet song of rejoicing robins
And glorious new clothes made
Of softly waving leaves.
The wind makes me shiver.
I clutch my coat tighter and pull
My scarf up to cover my hair.
As the cemetery gate swings shut,
I pray their wish is granted.
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