Fir Trees in Winter

This poem was inspired by a prompt at dVerse poetry.  

The prompt today was to write an etheree poem about Christmas trees / fir trees.

 

Trees

slow-way

against wind,

blown in from North.

Old man winter's breath

falls across the rolling

hills and valleys made empty

of blackbird calls and chimney smoke.

A backwoods where the firs bloom and breathe,

There is no farmer here, no ax either.

Pine green,

moon wanes.