Not much greenery left behind
As heat takes charge, of the land
One tree stands out, from them all
She fancies herself rather grand

Always posing, in mysterious ways
She likes to show off her style
Though the gray, has started to show
What is left, still makes her smile

A gust of wind, on the open range
And her hair blows, out of control
Withered, she bends, to the breeze
As the days start to take their toll

Ever ageless, though aging fast
From the wind, she no longer recoils
Counting the moments, until, at last
She returns, once again, to the soil

January Writing Prompt – Swept away with the wind, her hair looked a mess – Day 9/31

©2019 Dorinda Duclos All Rights Reserved
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