In the treetops, a wild morning
is taking place
Wind tatters the aging summer leaves
branches sway
sun glistens on the cold
shoulders of the oaks.
Night is dispelled, thoroughly.
We in the clearing below
in the deep well of the still green
where the stones are cold to the touch,
we are already cloaked in another season,
waiting for the canopy to fall
for the dew to turn to frost,
our breath to cloud.
Poems from the Edge of the Continent 
Nice poem
You always capture the instant so well, the feeling, the mood, the sparkling breath of the moment 🙂
I love it and I love you 🙂
Ya Haqq!
One of the best poems I’ve read in a while. It has a kind of extended haiku-like tone, and those last four lines are killer.
Great work.
Loved this poem. The opening lines made me sit up:
Absolutely wonderful images.