An apathetic breeze sweeps by
As leaves run dry of fleeting life.
The ardor of their avarice
Breeds legacy and mutes the sky.

You cannot tell, but deep inside
They're drained of breath and vibrancy...
For still they thrill their passers by,
Who judge by only what they see.

Distressed, uprooted by the wind--
The same which ripples maidens' locks--
While scarlet colors turn so dim
That birds fly south in stunning flocks.

Unyielding branches stay in place,
Though bare and unadorned they are,
Absorb the faint remaining blaze,
And take up slumber from afar.

The tempest whispered, "Come with me",
Upon a victim, fast asleep...
"Oh, Storm," said Slumber, "Can't you see?
There's peace untold in Winter's keep."