A young spry tree;
So quick to shed it’s false spring(time) leaves

Unlike the old spruce
That’s seen so many seasons
That it’s learned to hold out as to not get hurt

But gone is it’s excitement

Unlike that youthful sapling
Who at first light will bend to ignite
And just be happy to be free of the first winter's plight



To survive the thought of an endless freeze
And slowly become accustomed to the seasons(reasons)
That the old tree knew

And to too grow through

And wither away in slow
And bitter agony
As the sun that lifted up
Could no longer compete with
The mother that beseeches
It’s weathered worried trunks
That no longer bend to greet me
And say The warnings to a weary last seedling
As it travels
On it’s way

*“Spring is here
And only within can it stay”