Romantic Stories No More Told

The frost has settled down upon the trees,
And ruthlessly strangled off the fantasies,
Of leaves that have gone unnoticed, swept like old,
Romantic stories now no more to be told.


The trees down the boulevard stand naked in thought,
Their abundant summery wordage silenced, caught
in the grim undertow, naked the trees confront,
Implacable winter's long, cross-questioning brunt.


 D.H. Lawrence