Rebellion
An oak waves in the blizzard,
an offensive ink spot on a canvass of stark.
Left and right it sways,
branches threaten to split their bark.
The contrast of color affronts the Wind;
it begins to quicken its pace.
It throws itself at the tree in redundance,
a crack, a crash; it kisses the earth's pale face.
The flakes continue falling,
rythmatically stealing the blot from sight.
You'd have never known the oak'd been there,
snow keeps piling through the night.
an offensive ink spot on a canvass of stark.
Left and right it sways,
branches threaten to split their bark.
The contrast of color affronts the Wind;
it begins to quicken its pace.
It throws itself at the tree in redundance,
a crack, a crash; it kisses the earth's pale face.
The flakes continue falling,
rythmatically stealing the blot from sight.
You'd have never known the oak'd been there,
snow keeps piling through the night.