Dreaming Tree


Winter is here,
cold fingers creeping in to the warmest part.
Leaves have now fallen, covering paths with carpet of former life.
The debris of summer lay all round like a deathly mantle on cold hard ground.

Winter is here,
her cold fingers seek out the warmest heart.
Friendly forest paths, once hazy green now crackle with fallen frames.
Summer long gone, now haunts familiar dreams, but a way is far gone.

Winter is here,
her cold fingers seek out and cover friendly paths.
So far we have travelled in search of comely paths.
Summer faded, long gone yet beckons us on, beckons to a place far from daily harm.

Winter is here and I close my eyes, recapture a dream of warmer times.

An island, a tree, a river, a sea, to far away my dreaming tree.

Stephen Hole, December 2003