The lonely tree in the courtyard,
seems doomed to live out its years--
Encircled in dust from the baked-clay earth,
with raindrops covering it like tears.

Washing over its dry old branches,
as its leaves turn from green to brown--
From Summer to Fall and Winter,
this sad old tree has grown.

Does anyone ever take notice,
of the loveliness it brings ?
To each and every season,
especially in the Spring.

And if it is an evergreen,
sparkling emerald all year 'round--
At Christmas, no longer lonely,
as it stands at the center of town.

Crystal lights adorn its branches,
as smiling angels rest on high--
A shining star the centerpiece,
reaching up to touch the sky.

In celebration our tree lingers,
as the holidays come to pass--
With gratitude for the chance to share,
its present and its past !

The sea appears before our eyes,
with tides that wash and sanctify;
And lifts our spirits toward the sun,
where golden rays connect as one.

They sanctify our souls within,
with crystal waters erasing sin;
And cleanse the ache of angry ire,
extinguishing all the raging fires.

While resting on the burning sands,
we contemplate our lives' demands;
With hearts aspiring to simplicity,
and Wills designed to set us free.

As we watch the rolling of the sea,
the tides tumbling fast and furiously;
We sense that angels rise above,
to demonstrate God's eternal love.

In faith perceived a chance to mourn,
and learn to love without the scorn;
Of hatred's voices through the years,
which claim the soul in haunting tears.

With peacefulness to rule our days,
we wander together through the maze;
Of tortured anguish that presents,
a force we need to guard against.

The seasons bear the fruits of love,
from heaven's Host who lives above;
In missives sent so loud and clear,
from angels which are flying near.

In stillness of the whitest light,
no longer torn apart by night;
Those ghastly hours melt like ice,
in solemn words relieving strife.

And so the echoed hearts arise,
to chant their wills to thus survive;
Despite the sadness of the past,
we hear the prayers arrive at last.

Peering through the snow-laced windows,
the world awash in alabaster light;
A frosty sky chills this wintry afternoon,
as the North winds whip onward in flight.

Inside, the gurgling sound of my teapot,
lifts up my spirits toward warm renewal;
As icy shards form quickly from the roof,
and I grab the teacup sitting by my stool.

Wrapped heavily in my flannel blankets,
sipping slowly as I watch the matchstick trees;
Their limbs swathed in feathers of oyster white,
lean together with their branches dangling free.

How picturesque a scene from my own window,
reviving memories of how the seasons change;
Although I've neared the end of my life's journey,
this graceful portrait can never be rearranged.

The lovely trees of autumn shine,
in fields of majestic glory;
It's heaven's way to give the world,
a pure and glowing story.

While whistling winds intrude upon,
the corners of our minds;
And the gentle breezes blow afar,
each colored leaf aligns.

As the trembling branches of the trees,
shed all their crinkled leaves;
The bounty of a sacred world,
brings nature to its knees.

The northern winds blow heavily,
with frost and chilly air;
And soon the days of winter rise,
as snowflakes dance in pairs.

Remember how the whistles sing,
a tune of changing seasons;
From God above Who tells the tale,
with faith, and hope and reason.

There's a solemn place, so vast, which reeks,
of emptiness and deepened sorrow;
It's a place where no one can envision tomorrow,
for the day has been shattered into tiny pieces;
From the drowning sounds of tears' releases.

Careless missives scratched upon the walls,
of this cavernous cave where dark dissolves;
Into twilight, no matter the hour, and dreams,
evolve into nightmares of ruin and screams.

There's no escape, unless the heart stops beating,
and every soul among the crowd creates;
An unrealistic reason for their destiny, their fate,
yet honor bound they hold onto what's at stake.

Within the caustic reprisal from devil's doom,
a mystic cloud of gray covers up all faces;
The endless swirling of heavy smoke's revival,
sits upon the heads of those who need survival.

They grasp at hope despite its shallow promise,
to reap the benefits of life without the pain;
And when the sunlight's illusive rays diminish,
the dreary sky pours down its acid rain.

Go ahead and feel the breezes,
brought to us by the wind and rain;
As the rustling leaves tell their stories,
some of joy and some of pain.

They whisper nightly as dark descends,
upon our sleepy little town;
Forgive me now, they'll often ask,
not wanting to be left alone.

Tears drip softly from those trees,
as their leaves let go and fly;
To the yard in which the children play,
in crisp bundles towering high.

Wild laughter permeates the air,
as each child decides to climb;
And the rustling leaves feel solace now,
when finding their place in time.

Crackling red the Autumn glows,
a roaring fire in every tree;
Brisk waters from the rain above,
cannot dampen their energy.

For Nature gives its soul to us,
from visions that often stay;
Within our hearts for countless years,
and never drift far away.