This was the tree I first slept beneath.
It was summertime then, when
nights were warmed by hot breezes
and spritzing sodas were the drink of choice.
She could overthrow a king with the fall of her leaves.
These leaves fallin’ a’briskin’ the air
hung-hangin’ leaves in air cold and frozen—
iced off leaves hangin’ a’swayin’ like a gallow’d man.
Now she is gold and old and losing leaves.
These leaves crinkle like foil
snap, crunch, crinkle
Oh I do hope they are ok.
I pray that Winter will be good to her.
They say it will be a cold one,
I think to myself as I rest against her.
The air smells spiced and dry.
I hope she will be ok.