The Autumn trees raise their skirts in high kicking review. For weeks this chorus line has held my gaze in a gaudy swirl. Now its leafless branches, stiff as corset stays, undrape in bare-limbed beauty. The woods reveal their secret places: fine-boned fieldstone walls and the mountain flanks with dark hollow creases.
Pert young buds in Spring may turn other men's fancy, but I'll take pleasure unadorned in silver bark and evening shadow - the last still loveliest - though the weary world may fade to winter white.
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