Naked Trees

Naked trees reach regally
To the cerulean sky.
They do not give a fig about
The people passing by.

In summer they put on a show,
With buds and leaves adorned;
But in the winter, they’re ignored,
By audiences scorned.

As if they care! They stretch,
Quite unencumbered without blooms;
And pose, admiring themselves,
In Nature’s dressing rooms.

Such freedom! They appear content,
With silhouettes serene;
I’ll miss their twiggy skeletons
When once more they are green.