December Walk Poem by dave lessard

In the chill of early morn
the sounds of dawn are sighing -
light forms in the east
west, the moon is dying.
My cheeks are getting cold
my fingers going numb -
I lift my arm above my chest
and blot the moon out with my thumb.
The trees are silhouetted
against a clear white sky -
leafless since November
their shapely forms pass by.
Still pleasant to the view
minus all their leaves -
they still have symmetry
regardless of their sleeves.
December now is fading
soon, the new year's here -
and we embrace it, eagerly
with our laughter and our tear.