Musings At The Fag End Of Fall

Standing on the threshold of winter,
I look at her.
Bonded have we
through sixteen seasons of spring
as inch by inch, 
she grew so tall
that I failed to fathom how.
Joy and laughter have I shared;
comfort she has lent
on those cloudy days
when solace I have sought.
Letting out a long sigh,
I now see her stand
bare sans her garments,
bracing the wind 
that sweeps across.
A tinge of sadness
crosses my mind.
Yet resolute she is,
firm not to surrender
to the stark bites
that will scathe her
month after month
till she is covered once again.
Largesse she has shown forever
as she let those strangers
who stopped by now and then
to rest in her abode.
Her tenacious resolve 
teaches me those lessons
 to dispel darkness
in the winter of despair
and see the light shining 
in the lane ahead.
Through the window
I gazed at her today
like I had done
those countless times.
She is the maple tree,
the sapling of the past
gifted to me 
with unfiltered love
with those tiny hands
on Mother’s Day. 
Her linings are gone,
but I will wait in earnest
till she is clothed again in green
and her beauty is enhanced,
till those multitude of birds
come in to sing
their song of joy,
till the day lengthens
and she basks in the sun.
We will tighten the knot 
that binds us 
as we renew 
our pact of friendship
yet another time
in the crowning glory of spring.


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