We used to be a tree.
We weren’t always a pile of sticks and leaves, remember?
Planted and alive; now waiting for an ember from a flame you had lit somewhere back in November
That flame kept us warm through the cold of December
                  and January
February took you back.
The tree we were was cut down a decade ago, do you recall?
Neat and unfair portions waiting to be burned in a fall years away from when we thought we had it all.
And the unlit blaze begged to burn tall
                  And wide
But it couldn’t.
A seed of yourself rooted again not long after we were chopped.
You grew magnificent and stronger and propped up the nest of bird who made its home at the top.
And who am I to beg for you to be cropped?
                  You can’t.
So I rest in your shade.
temporary visitation, I feel safe; unafraid of the pain that comes with departing the place where I’ve laid.  
Grateful for the comfort under branches you’ve made.
                  You’re beautiful.