The ancient Hawthorn
groans under the weight
of the vicious autumn wind.
Gnarled branches twist through each other
reaching towards the crimson autumn sky.
Steel wind sways a blackened web of thorns.
A leafless form like an old man stooped on the moor.
Sheltered beneath it’s boughs a young couple,
their skin turned blue by the bitter cold
that descends upon them as day turns into night.
Huddled together in death as they had been in life
Their last moments together protected by the great tree.