Fixed

Like the leaves

On the trees

You hold on

Not wanting to

surrender

To the barrenness of

winter

Nor open to the blossom

Of spring

The sun sets,

softening

But you remain brittle

The breeze gently teases

trying to pry you off

the spindly branch

Yet you remain fixed

Neither yielding

Nor thriving

Even the autumn glow

Has faded

You remain fixed

Fixed to the moodiness

Of your season

Poem: © Penelope Mavor 2015

Image: own