Winter Trees by Robert Lowell

The trees are bare,
the sky a slate gray
as winter’s chill descends.
Bare branches stand stark
but wrapped in power –
a promise, a flicker as the sun fades away.

And I recall the life
in leaves, the green’s return
as time curls to embrace
a slumber that awakens
in an effortless sweep,
in spring’s radiant embrace.

• Robert Lowell