Mother nature’s delicate lace,
Lies dying, decaying, free from grace.
Each beauteous stitch so fine, so neat,
A marvel, flawless, in defeat.
An empty mosaic that once was whole,
A piece-less jigsaw’s, segments stole.
Gone, the succulence and the sheen,
Gone, the countless shades of green.
No more flitting in the breeze,
Abandoned canopies, barren trees.
First, the colours turn to rust,
Then, curious skeletons turn to dust.
4th February 2019