III. Remains

Yet another Tree poem.  I now see the three poems as part of a sort of sequence of which this is the third - and I think the final - part.

III.      Remains

There’s something quite contrived

about the disposition of the thinning

fades that cling to emptying trees.

These time-lost lonely dowagers

wear worm-hole gems where bright

sky glitters through and droop

aloft in genteel raggedness.

They feed on emptiness and

flaunt their hopeless state.

While at their feet, two magpies strut

and crunch through memories of what

there used to be. 

                   And with the sound of

silken sheen or tuneless whistle -
but with edge – the rake comes on.

As always I welcome comments.