The trees all through the winter woods are thin.
They've shed those pounds they gained since Spring.
Their now-svelte selves expose each skeleton.
They've purged themselves from Spring's long fling.

I haven't shed the pounds I grossly gained
from Spring and Summer and through Fall.
I have, however, shed some hair that rained
down to my sink to form a ball

that bounced right back a truth that slapped my face
and skeletal-becoming head.
The seasons that were slow now pick up pace
and fill the winter woods with dread.