Old Tree

Do you feel the whispering

Of winds that pass you by

In constant flight, the vagrant souls

That race across the sky?

Do you know the temperatures

That change from day to day

Cause your first buds and new leaves,

Then crimson shades that frey

To be caught in the wind’s strong pull

And cast upon the ground?

Is that defiance that you shout

With creak and snapping sound?

Should the morning find you laid

In silence on the path,

Fear not, old tree, I’ll sing your song

In spite of winter’s wrath.

© 2011  Pam H. Murray