Folia

birthed squalling 

against a gale,

small as a tyke,

no two alike;

a spring green child

swaying against

a wayward wind

yet lives so mild;

lady mother

ever coloured

beautifully,

very deftly;

coloured by her

spring green children;

her darling brood

that covers wood;

however by

the unfateful,

orange autumn,

came a sly bane;

her innocent,

spring green children

reposed aground,

grouped in a mound;

she fed in grief

on their gay souls;

their innocent,

wee, spring green souls;

in the winter,

lady mother

mournfully yards

against blizzards;

solemnly, she

remembers all

her innocent, 

spring green children;

she seeks to rest,

to fall asleep,

hoping to see

them in her dreams;

she wakes up tired

to morning light,

yet welcomes it

with great delight;

to misfortune, 

she did seem to

forget her late, 

spring green children;

she gently raised

her wooden arms

toward the sun,

like vict`ry won;

and soon, and soon,

she birthed one,

a small, green chap:

a spring green chap;

and along with

the weary thought

of all her late,

spring green children;

she's lost thoughtless,

the wretched fear

of losing them

all but again--