I wonder if trees feel pain when asked to accept a season's passed?
Or if the path trodden with footprints side by side, grieves when only one returns.
Leaves drop, but I hear no crying.
Rain falls, but puddles call the children near.
I'd like to be a tree whose branches bend with the turning winds
Or the muddy trail full of splashy laughter and grins
But it's Winter and the wind of change cuts, icy blades, and my tender roots are battered and torn.
So I will wait until Spring arrives, and with her Hope.
She will dry my tears and shake off the dust.
Show me beauty I can love and trust.
She will fill my baskets to the rim.
And heal my heart deep within.