First Winter Storm

The first winter storm
comes unpretentious,
wrapped in gray,
so solemn
its tears they
turn to rain.

The earth,
so dry and cracked
from drought,
consumes the rain,
like a hungry child
suckling to its
mother's breast.

The trees,
they moan with
a rippling sound,
as the wind
removes their flesh,
leaf after leaf,
until their skeletons
remain as bare as
death itself.

The leaves,
how defiantly they fall,
soaring on the wind,
fighting to remain aloft,
somehow sensing
their final decay and rot.

The grass,
several shades of brown,
sleepy and content,
disturbed but for a moment,
as the leaves
they strike the ground

1990 Jim Cain