The Stripper

The birch tree stands there, centre stage,
in crimson, gold and purple sage.

She flutters, then in windy flurry,
her burlesque show begins to scurry.

Swaying now in stiffening breeze,
her branches shimmy, dance, then tease.

Now, revealed in all her glory,
her last leaf drops and ends our story.

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About The Malt House

A keen amateur photographer and wordsmith, I love the countryside and all that it contains. I live in rural South Shropshire, on the border between England and Wales. I enjoy travel, reading, writing, landscape photography and music.
This entry was posted in Autumn, Dance, Humour, Nature, Poetry, The Unexpected. Bookmark the permalink.

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