The autumnal turn
sets deep in the world
and pulls at leaves
by the handful.
Whether it’s blissful ignorance
scandalous intent,
or simple dereliction,
some of the Fair Folk
can rightly complain
about the enduring tradition
of this pine tree’s
defiant decision.
As such,
its seasonal lack
of cooperation,
and stubborn stoicism,
leads to complete
ignorance, and,
indeed, ignoring,
of a scheduled
and deciduously
fastidious
color-switching.
As such,
pursuant to,
and whistling,
detailed by
many-tiny-birds,
in a fluttering convention;
they and their peers
outline the complaint,
and state the case,
to the Winter Queen,
who demands to know
who allowed these trees
to be
so…
coniferously conflicting.
© CG Tenpenny, 2021.
This is the view from my caravan/travel trailer parking spot.
It was very hard to not use “needles-lessly” in this poem. Just wanted you to know that.
