Improv Post One Week Three

This is an improv off of the pastoral by Janet Lewis called "Remembered Morning." I wanted to keep with the rhyme scheme of abcabc ababcc ababcc and the three accents per line.

The wind in the trees sings
a song to me and friends,
the song whispered in leaves
of what death can bring.
My father axes the end
of what laughter the tree heaves,

and instead the silence hums
through trickling rivers, rocks
and pops in a cackling drum
fire on the tiny docks
where groups gather to chase
the sensation death laced

away. With lattes they hide
the fear of winter- of snow
that buries happy inside,
warmed by what spring'll show.
It prepares them all 
to devour the precious wall.