A Tree Grew

An ancient maple, eight feet round

Tight to a slope, clinging to ground

Branches not hosting summer’s sweet sound

They winter wearying, near empty found

 

Gone with last of Autumn’s light breeze

The work and hum of busy hive bees

Honey in tree trunks stored for cold’s rest

As season’s swing to’ard longish harsh test

 

Standing, gazing, over far meadow scene

Fields flowing yellow, with rust in between

Silently sleeping through winter’s weary way

With darkening clouds settling into deep grey

 

Colored leaves fallen, form wide faded slate

Drooping eyelids from autumn’s cascade

Barren branches above a darkening ground

As autumn is forsaken for winter’s deep frown

 

Left to sleep dreams of coming spring’s growth

Morning mists and blue skies, welcoming both

And on its branches, among leaves will be found

A tumult of life, fueling its heart’s silent sound