Lichen and Moss

One cannot discern
if these dwarf figures
were once plum or apricot
or some other form of fruit
tree once tame and green
gone wild with neglect,
yet freed from the harvest
for casual plucking,
a summer blessing
on thirsty deer.

Some ragged on first glance,
crouching old men, unkempt
and gray, whiskers trailing
the ground with every stir
of wind, limbs groaning
and cracking in the windy
approach of winter.

Others resemble mammoths
in the moonlight, shaggy
ponderous beasts with trunks
swaying side to side while
the rest bear only a fleeting
resemblance to anything
living, now or ever.

Lichen and moss, gray green,
pale yellow, and silver
growing in lattice, crisscross,
frills forming flowers, and crystalline
snowflakes, covering every bare
inch of bark and twig. The trees
inside are passing away privately
under stately shrouds, nothing more
than nature burying her own.