Here are a couple of seasonal poems I wrote about the tree that’s been living on the piece of earth that I call home much longer than I have.
This old tree is leaving
the need for productivity behind.
Quietly, and quite slowly,
he appears to have changed his mind.
His newfound beauty is unmistakable
and noticed by most eyes,
but what I cherish is
with which I see his other side.
Even in the darkest, coldest nights
you stretch out your branches.
As the winds howl,
Your old soul creaks a bit.
Frail, though, you may appear
your strength is revealed in the morning
when the silence comes
and piles of snow adorn your back
as if this burden was your deepest delight.