Perhaps it is not a far stretch
comparing its beauty, planted and raised
for something so solemn;
from the dust of the earth it came
and shall return.
Sleep and death are metaphors it knows well,
itself dying, after tears of joy or
drenched sorrow,
or October’s humbling chill tomorrow with
a sedate, gentle hand
assuring reincarnation by spring’s exuberant
life giving rays that only call for
another labored sacrifice.




10 old applause
