One Single Impression asks for a Naked poem. I am known for loving trees in winter, so perhaps my little poem comes as no surprise.
Denuded of its garments,
the oak stands there,
majestic in its mastery
of form for all to share.
Bare of all its greenery,
the oak rests, proud,
patient through the bad months,
waiting for a new green shroud.
Image: Solitary Oak, by Morgan=Lou
Poem for Writing our Way Home