The Tree-arlene s bice
In my walk in the wood
It calls to me
The tree
Tilted, inelegant
Its wounds showing
Survived, yet again
A beauty of its own,
Waking from winter’s rest
Buds bursting
Leaves filling out
In dark greens and light
Dressing its bones
With a spring outfit
Birds nesting
Offering a symphony
A hug is appropriate.
