Aren’t you cold and won’t you freeze,
With branches bare, you winter trees?
You’ve thrown away your summer shift,
Your autumn gold has come adrift.
Dearie me, you winter trees,
What strange behaviour, if you please!
In summer you could wear much less,
But come the winter — you undress!
from In the Land of the Giants (Salt, 2012), © George Szirtes 2012, used by permission of the author