Trees
Hollow echoes follow up the steps:
A step - half a beat - an echoed step,
And not far ahead, from below the sill
Rises, clawing, the thin arms
Scraping along the glass.
Begging.
Pleading.
Shuddering winds shake their fragile holds
And only more desperately do they cling
To what little they can cling to.
Rain pounds downwards,
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