Winters' Woes, some Bleed, in Prose

Perilous Propellers:

Where others left, yet hold they on, These stragglers, left behind
The friendship circle, broken, gone, The winter has been kind.

Decay:

With form deformed and toll being took, And natures path, led way
The remnants of what once had look, Now dangles in decay.

Twisted Torture:

A cry for help, a last ditch made, Attempt to reach the skies
Alas, too late, soon good-bye bade, One more of Winters' cries

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Desolation:

A barren twig, a branch now light, It's weight robbed by the sun
And dry, and heat, and nature's plight, Left standing, none, but one

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Delicate Danglers:

Off-set against a carpet green, And veils of white, so bland
A last ditch effort can be seen, For pride to take it's stand

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Wanderlust

Twas on a weekend, now gone two, That son and I had gone
To place of wash, remove all goo, And car again make shone
And in this time of wait, car clean, The Lens portray a view
Of longing, would you too not glean, The thoughts that did ensue

Suspect I do his mind not here, Please read my post of last
The post of wing, and often prayer, His mind race to there, fast?