Firelight, and strains of a symphony
Wafting in.
Outside, bare trees
Against leaden skies
Weave their own music
That throbs with the rhythm
Of the orchestra.
The wind moans, and
Strong, black branches
Sway slowly,
Mark the beat,
Then stop.
The wind hums,
Delicate, lacelike tops
Quiver and ripple
With the quick response
Of the violins.
With the shriek of the wind
They writhe and toss,
Measuring the crescendo
Of the brasses.