Winter Battle

Drill Sergeant Winter has his way. . .
He sweeps in amidst an entourage
Of frosty air and bone-chilling temperatures.
He barks out orders to the ranks of fallen leaves,
Marching them across frozen plains
In perfect formation
To the cadence of January winds.
Occasionally the army of leaves gets caught in a cyclonic battle,
Swirling into the air as the skirmish
Escalates.
The cold, gray days of battle and marching in formation
Seem unending,
Until finally the batallion of leaves is left
Frayed and in disarrayed piles
As the war ends
And the wind dies
And winter surrenders
To spring