By Katie E. Hancock

Anywhere where there are trees that drape above the road,
Where wind does whisper through the leaves, a thousand stories told.
Where orange, yellow, red, and green do come from every spring,
Where spiny fingers reach the sky as like a dragon's wings.
Where every winter skeletons do rise up from the earth,
Where every fall the arms of them do rest upon the hearth.
Where fire runs like wild beasts, engulfing in its wrath,
Where cloudless drops of cool clear rain do wash its blackened path.
Where seasons change and ages pass and centuries shall meet,
Where blankets patchwork, green, or white do coat a traveler's feet.
Where there you find a child at play, and there its mother doe,
Where, anywhere, where there are trees, there streams the magic's flow.

Submitted By sania

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