Winter baubles

Once waxen green skins nowhere to be seen,
Now cold sun bleached to blushing shades of orange and yellow,
Late harvest baubles levitating below barren branches.
Berries the shade of Bordeaux wine,
Remind us of past seasons and those to come.
Through frames of wooden fingers, the low winter sun
Reveals all the things we never see
First a house, then garden and now a field,
Winter’s disrobing by grades displays,
All manner of things hidden from sight,
It’s as if during day, we live through the night.

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