Photo Brian Federle, Camping March 2010
Wind-ripped leaves
cover my yard
severed flesh, leathery
fingers splayed
grip the brick walkway.
Flush winter roses
drop petals,
red shrouds cover
glistening gold veins
sundered
from ravaged trees.
Yet the trees survive.
mimicking death’s
grey angularity
oblivious to the wind,
nude limbs
lean into the howling storm
and dream of June breezes,
singing green afternoons,
the faithful thrush
thrusting new life to flight.
But for now
black clouds gather
the winter wind sings dirges
for these sacrificial leaves
nourishing the famished earth.
(11/18/2010)
re-post 10/25/2017
poems 
Wonderful imagery, Steven — not to mention an apt metaphor….
It’s really good to see a post from you. Hope all is well.