My yard is a forrest Covered in mossy trees There’s a ditch with muddy water And a cracked up pavement road The grass is long and unkempt And weeds climb the fence. Loose flowers hang From drooping bushes. A sigh can echo Down the street Into the forrest And it’ll be answered by the creak of the wood.
My surroundings are grey Fifty shades of sorrow One hundred pounds of gloom The leaves are changing color And falling to the earth Leaving bare bark bones To spread like fingers to the sky.
All except one At the corner of the property The prime of the street And crown of the yard, It’s noticably smaller Than all the others But stands tall and delicate Against the rainy winds. The fog gathers Hanging over it Doing it’s best But it will not succeed To mist its summer color.
The leaves are a fire red You can see it from within the forrest, Not a single leaf has yet to drop And they shudder and rustle In a symphony of summer blaze, It overwhelmes And enchants the eye Not letting it’s luminescent color Fade with the world, Staying bold through the snow And skinny branches tough through storms.
A small and loud tree Stands at the corner of the yard, It is the jewel of the neighborhood, A torch for courage And sticking it through,
The weather cannot weather fire It cannot douse the flames, The tree will stay crimson For 365 days.