So much for the 'trees sequence now is ended' approach to writing poetry!  I think that I have probably added another poem to the list.

In reality I think that this sequence is going to be cut down, but I am finding great satisfaction in developing the ideas that are contained within it.  This is the latest and 'last' one.  For now.

Exception?

One tree is different.

While all around have

gone to gaunt,

this one preserves its greenery.

A little tired, it’s true, with

more of structure showing

than it did, but

                       birds prefer it –

            though skittering is paid

with extra loss.

What makes it different?

It’s one of six

in seven short rows:

outside edge; the second

from the gate.

I’ll count the days

before it too conforms.

When empty scratches
test one’s faith once more.