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Fibonacci
Poetry
by Wendy Freebourne
The Nature of Things 
Trees
trunks
bushes
shrubs grow wide
when nature is left
to her own resources, uncared
for by man who would seek to control her otherwise.
Winter 
Trees
bear
winter.
Underfoot,
frozen leaves shatter.
Light sleeps deeply in icy ground.
Abandoned, spider webs fashion delicate shadows.
Muted sunbeams pierce the hollows as afternoon marks descent of day and all lies still.
Waiting 
Now
the
ladies
are waiting,
bare branches pointing
towards the sky like wizened whores.
No longer greedily-clad in summer's gaudy leaves,
They whisper, bough on bough, furrow-browed, trunks puckered in thought,
pondering a distant spring.
Mother's Gown 
Bed
time.
Whispers
down the hall.
Kisses from mother.
Her perfumed hair, the rustle of
silk, the swish of her gown. She's a vision of beauty
on father's arm. He is handsome and tall. They are going to dance all night at the ball.
Published in National Poetry Anthology, Still Life 2005
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