Iced

It started with the drops...
they dropped and dripped
but became sticky with the chill

then their dropping and dripping
slowed in April's breath,
as the flowing sweet fluid
sometimes flows from the trunks
and hardens in bulbous gestures
luring curious fingers

the drops splashed
against their predecessors

they splashed and stayed
in their early spring play

more and more crowded
on flayed maple buds,
which bloomed just
a couple days previous
when warm sun coaxed
them out of their slumber

now they await their
wither from icy weather

unseen hands pelt the
ground laying below
with the newly made
hail blossoms

those same hands
rattle the ice-choked
trunks, branches, twigs,
making the trees wail

thunder that comes late
with the converted ice
echoes the wailing
echoes the creaking,
groaning, twisting,
cracking, snapping, falling...

dripping drops