Maids of Spring, Summer, Fall... <br />Sleeping, tucked cozy under bowers. <br />Dreaming, waiting awakening. <br />The fourth sister, Winter's Maid <br /> <br />Treads on barefeet, daintily, laughing. <br />Ah, she is a pretty thing, palest of hair, <br />Skin...tinsel-colored eyes... <br />A touch...last color from leaves, fades, <br /> <br />Trunks greyer, air chillier, grasses brown. <br />Squirrels flick tails in warning. She smiles. <br />With one foot, she tosses leaves aside, a bare <br />Patch of ground. What's this? Looking around, <br /> <br />She takes things from her robe's pockets... <br />Sprinkles them on the ground. Covers <br />These with leaves. Laughs...knows <br />Her sister, Spring's Maid, always thought <br /> <br />It was she...never <br />Winter's Maid.<br /><br />elysabeth faslund<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/winter-s-maid/
