I saw the poplars bend 

against the wind 

a line of noble archers 

bows drawn,

armed in tension 

sapling-spring muscles

waiting to be loosed

against the pale sky

where are the arrows

of these pallid efforts?

an unarmed resistance

wages war against

an invisible enemy

leaves fall to the ground

a mosaic of coloured flags

upon a bed of cold earth

the war of hues ends

after the colours

have bled dry;

ashes to ashes,

dust to dust

© Christopher Raine