A golden wreath of falling leaves
is curling from the fozen trees.
The winter blows and chills
the forest,
in winter deep all go to sleep.

Through banks and frozen walls
the trees bow,
with ribbens of sound;
creaking deep the forest resonates
with ghostly mist’s,
and forgot roots.

Winter swollowed the forest whole
with its gaping white mouth.

© By Amanda D Shelton