The ghostly birch extends it’s arms;
fingers protruding into the dark night
shadows — of geranium stain the ground.
A landscape so bleak it...
struggles against the thin air,
like shy lovers touching hands.
I trudge heavily, ground — laden with
from white eyelashes, one blink
brings an avalanche
catching the low sun.
Suddenly the carpet is full of stars.
The forest silently ticks on, minute calls
murmuring, shipwrecked sirens...Scentless.
Slats of light, tease through naked
venetian bones, our eyes eat the warmth.
Beneath the earth sap stirs
before sneaking into spring...
— David Williams
David Williams is a retired driving instructor and a part-time poet living in the North West of England. Active in his local poetry group, David's poetry also appears on various sites including Poetry Soup.
The Fourth Season is David's second poem to be featured at Bar None Group in 2014. We thank him for his continuing support and contributions to our poetic discourse.