A Stand of Birches
by Theodora Goss

In the evening,
the white birch ladies
lift their skirts by the water
so elegantly, as though being presented
at court to the queen herself,
the pale moon,
showing her face in the sky
even before the sun, that arrogant king,
leaves the ballroom
to the bats and moths and owls,
the demimonde of the night,
ruled over by their own
pockmarked but still lovely monarch.
The birches curtsy and she nods
to them, in recognition
of their fealty.

(The image is Birch Trees by Alois Kalvoda.)