The snow falls silent,
on this cold, crisp winter’s day,
lightly dancing on the wind,
inviting me to join in its ballet of ice.

Enchanted by its frozen magic,
as it shimmers and winks at me,
it’s magic works its spell,
and I join in the dance.

The wood beacons me with quiet whispers,
whistling through leaves and branches bare.
Songs of ancient, enchanted trees
and spirits dancing in joyous delight.

A low moan in the night implores me,
inviting me deep into its glade,
to witness heaven’s masterwork
in awakening stars that light my way.

I feel the spirits, amidst the twilight’s mist,
embracing me, welcoming me.
My child dances joyously within
as I find my way back home.

The first snow of winter, a most magical time,
when soft, gentle flakes float down from the sky.
They cover the sidewalks with light fluffy snow,
and light on one’s lashes and tickle one’s nose.

When Jack Frost bids eager young children to play,
in the season’s first snowfall, there can be no delay.
For the snowmen are calling, and sleds line the hills,
entreating the little ones, come get your fill.

The air becomes silent, in whiteness surrounds,
while a blanket of frostiness covers the ground.
And sun gleams on snowflakes that light up the sky,
bringing joy to the hearts of each passersby.

In the darkness of night, the quiet still grows,
and each flake brings a peace that the season bestows.
The moon glow reflects off the country gone white,
now heralds a season of wintery delight.

Clothing tattered, they come,
hungry for freedom and food.
Beaten down by oppression and hate
they cry for freedom.

They come by the thousands,
on foot over uncounted miles,
yet we turn them away,
as they cry for food.

Sick and worn, they arrive.
Torn from friends and family,
caged like animals.
They cry for compassion.

They die awaiting relief,
as hope wains across our land.
We ignore their plea,
as children cry for justice.

We all await the return of
conscience and compassion,
and grow weary as time wears on
and we cry…

So honest is a puppy’s love,
kisses so tender and sweet,
a love that has no agenda,
except to be loved.

You burst with excitement,
when I come to call,
greeting me with your dance,
and springing into my arms.

As you curl up on my lap,
you sigh and look up briefly,
before snuggling in,
to dream your puppy dreams.

I’ve always dreamt of living life,
outside the bounds of everyday,
and break my insignificance:
a nameless child, amidst the fray.

I dreamt of lands beyond my reach,
I’d only read in far-off tales,
and made a promise to myself,
to reach beyond my choking veil.

To make my hidden dreams come true,
my path was never lined with gold,
and many days were wrapped in tears,
with pain and wounds within my soul.

But I’ve been blessed with unseen joys,
that few will ever know or see,
and now I know the price I’ve paid,
was worth the cost to set me free.

Now in the autumn of my days,
my silent self from inside seeps,
and finds its voice clothed in my words,
from deep within my soul it speaks.

Each word I write comes with a prayer.
to move all those who chance to read,
and start them on their lifetime quest;
to choose a well-lived life to lead.

From halls of learning
ghosts of students past cry
through voices left behind
and rise up against the hate.

A voice crying out against oppression
could not be silenced.
The bullet felt, only strengthened resolve,
for those longing to be educated.

She called out from across the earth
to those in a dying world
wake, wake blind world:
wake to save yourself.

Beauty and strength roll off her tongue
breaking the haze that blinds us,
calling all to stand up and be brave enough.
Youth spoke, and her name was hope.

We lost our innocence last week.
You came into our lives picking them clean,
stealing from us the peace and calm
of a life without fear.

You crept in with your AKAs,
with your anger dripping from your guns;
your violence became ours,
along with its silent fears.

You cloud our minds and haunt our dreams 
as you creep into our nightmares. 
We search for ways to escape, but find no hope 
while you are in our memories.

We have bargained away our future 
for want of power and wealth.
But I have always known that guns 
were traded for lives and souls.

Autumn falls quietly in the north,
creeping over gardens and woods
as it kisses the leaves in vermilion and ochre
catching blossoms in mid-bloom.

The shadows of September grow long,
over fields and landscapes,
as their stark contrast reminds all
of the frigid months to come.

Butterflies flit noiselessly about
from flower to flower lighting briefly,
in their search of nectar,
drinking in the remaining harvest of the season.

A soft breeze rustles through the leaves,
bringing a shiver to my shoulders,
as a solitary leaf floats gently down beside me;
a brief wave to fall.

Autumn up north is upon us again,
with sharp contrasts and fallen leaves,
squirrels and chipmunks scurry about,
preparing for the winter snow.

Days of polished azure skies,
backdrop to sugar maples
on fire in the colors of change:
burnt oranges, crimson reds, and golds.

Leaves twist and twirl in the air
on their way to their winter rest,
crunching and scratching
on sidewalks before me.

The shrill caw, caw, caws of blue jays,
cut through the thin morning air,
heralding the oncoming cold,
with sharp gusts that sting the cheeks.

The scents of autumn so familiar,
musty and crisp, inviting and blustery,
envelop me in memories of years past,
like a familiar friend calling me out to play.

By a crackling fire, they stood,
whispering promises,
in a cream-white dress and lace,
a bouquet of flowers nearby.

Gazing into the other’s eyes,
they recited their love troths,
and began their adventure,
with a simple “I do".

Raised on the crumpled fairytales and dreams of fractured youth,
left nothing to believe in and little else to do,
but cast the past into its hell and banish memory’s hold,
into the fiery pit of growth that purified my soul.

I think of times when hope was lost and blindness filled my days;
when darkness colored everything and filled my life with grey;
where fairies found in fairytales were buried where they died,
and weakened wills were crushed to dust and vanished with the lies.

But now the dust is washed away, and life is largely gone,
that bedrock, now left found exposed, is made of solid ground.
Amidst the hopes and dreams of youth, tales set my mind ablaze,
I sense these wild imaginings were meant to lift my days.

Throughout my life I’ve always thought my dreams eluded me,
and lies were told, in years of old, to quiet me to sleep,
But through the ever changing years, these tales unlocked a door,
for dreams were told to give my mind creative wings to soar.

Along this springtime path I tread,
as Earth awakens from its slumber.
Buttercups glint in the sun’s first light,
while dew rolls off their waxy gold.

Spring-beauty line my morning walk,
along with orchid splendor of violets.
Jack in the pulpit collects its chaliced dew,
beside shooting stars fallen to the ground.

Horsetail reeds, segmented and green,
in tawny conical hats,
and trilliums with triads of snow-white petals,
encircling golden throats.

Smells of earth and green unite,
in silence of the woods deep.
Streams filled with new life held in their *****,
awaiting birth in the warmth of spring.

You died, slipping into my memory like the ghost you were.
I held you high on a pedestal, above the winds of change.
But time caught up to the friend you once were,
and you fell too far for me to catch.

Rolling landscape
beneath soft quiet stillness waits,
as still, petite flakes
waft upon the breath of winter.

It’s bitter air
bites at my cheeks and nose,
sharply, waking me
to a day washed clean in white.

Reverently embracing
the solitude of morning light,
I revel in the crispness
of fresh new winter hope.

Beneath this world where life was birthed,
is painted in awesome mystery;
Eden-like beauty fills its silent world
and creation beyond imagining.

Shimmery scales flash before my eyes
in the quiet of the afternoon sun,
as blue tangs dart about in unison
in the turquoise of the shallow seas.

A world pulsing with life,
sparkling with newness every day,
awaiting us to learn its secrets,
within the school of the seas.

In silence absolute, we drifted,
on the evening current,
beneath the hazy full moon
of a December sky.

Floating on night breezes,
our spirits awed, amazed.
Rock walls pulsating with life.
in a chorus of light.

Cliffs towering above,
draped in nature’s Christmas lights,
winking in turquoise and white,
as we passed beneath.

Entranced by this purity of creation,
guided by the river’s strength.
This magical night, so perfect and surreal
remains in breathless memory.

I reached to catch my dreams
as they teased me in my sleep;
foreign lands beyond my grasp,
and acceptance to be me.

There were many times I wished
I could just give up this fight,
days of solitude and grief,
fighting just to stay alive.

With my eyes fixed on my goal,
I was blind to gifts around,
and the changes from within,
came to me without a sound.

Now I stand among my gifts,
with the lessons life taught me
and thank the heavens for the pain,
that caught these dreams for me.

Paint me a picture,
I heard the world cry,
and give me the wings
from this madness I'll fly.

Our hearts have been squeezed
to their limit I fear,
and the pain we all share
has been found in our tears.

But the deep winter sun
has burst forth on this day,
giving hope to the hopeless
and warms sorrow’s prey.

It’s stark sparkling light
atop snow tops it dances,
dusting glitter on snowbanks
like diamonds it flashes.

Across fluffy drifts
with impressionist hues,
brings to mind sandy beaches
of Caribbean dunes.

So dance if you can
for this day will soon pass,
let your mind find its picture
‘til you find peace at last.

The mundane day to day never spoke much to me,
with its voice, foreign, speaking in a language unknown.
It slept upon my porch and knocked at my bolted door,
but I swept it away in the morning with each dream I dreamt.

Dreams have carried me to far off lands,
reminding me to reach beyond what I knew,
and bade me to break free from the shackles of life;
to heed their vision as they beckoned on the wind.

Many times I’ve risked it all and left what I knew behind
to follow my heart, beyond the safety of my world,
each time I aspired to be more than I believed I could be
and run with the wind and risk to be free.

When asked what I wish for, for those coming after me;
I reply, a sweeter passage, for those longing to be free.
I wish for freedom from without and wars that rage within,
and for courage with to find a voice in this world we live in.

My hope for a tomorrow lies within a better day;
a day when people are not hungry, and when skin does not betray.
I ask for kind compassion for those lesser in this world,
and a greater understanding from those of privileged from birth.

I’d pray for bullies banished, for their souls to fully see,
that the hate they are creating, is no place I’d wish to be.
I ask for leaders and for kings, remember where you’re from,
and be a shepherd for your flock, not fleece your lesser sons.

I’d ask religions of this world to live in love and peace,
and live according to their faith and that violence decrease.
I’d ask that all would come to know the joy we will receive,
when we treat all men like brothers and all women equally.

The last thing I would want for them is life without the pain,
of fearing what tomorrow brings within this pouring rain;
a life of bright tomorrows, without worry or hopeless fear,
and I will go in peace, if asked, behind my grateful tears.

The raggedy girl of childhood,
lived across a field of swaying grass.
Little tomboys finding ourselves,
running the summer down.

Days filled with splashing in creeks,
and catching bugs in our clasped hands.
Shinnying up trees in the heat,
drinking Kool-aid, our afternoon treat.

Wringing as much as we could,
from this time of innocence,
we struggled as children do,
to make sweet summer memories.

In white lace, adorned in flowers,
she gazes at her beloved in adoration.
While he caresses her with tenderness,
they move together to the dance of love.

Giddy with joy, they twirl beneath the stars,
as joyful wedding bubbles rain down on them.
They gaze into the other’s eyes,
and the rest of the world melts away.

I strolled this street of opulence,
where snow, it seems, tastes twice as sweet,
and magic smells assail our sense,
and music dances on the breeze.

The air of grandness on this street,
with buildings dressed in twilight rose.
Aristocrats with wealth, replete,
are dressed to taste this evening snow.

But truthfully the difference lies,
within the heart of those who see,
the truth inside the fantasy,
when snow falls on this Paris street.

The mighty sea, majestic rolls,
its strength beyond our mortal realm,
within that awesome, mystery,
the fearsome breath of life still swims.

While navy seas beneath me thrive,
and beckon to the wild in me.
Their furled waves hit strong and true,
and buffet while their cyclones rage.

And with their true majestic strength,
which is the sea, its power released,
rolls deep and awesome under foot
and I, in fearless awe, abide.

Once I snorkeled reefs so grand they made me gasp in silent awe,
their brilliant world painted with the hues of the seas,
Red and violet fans waved as fishes flitted beyond my touch,
while I passed their world from overhead.

Long ago I delighted in pristine and surreal seas of life;
coral fish and anemone, the sergeant majors and angels.
Their colors still vivid in my dreams, they flash by in prison suits
only in my memories now.

Long ago I swam the seas and witnessed sights beyond my realm;
the giant clams and tiny squid, with schools of fish all hues below.
But now I see a world of grey, devoid of color I once knew,
a sad lament for the great reefs.

Long ago, but just a breath, I swam amidst beauty few will know,
but now I grieve its passing and pray that soon we’ll see,
the future of our reefs, washed gray by human negligence,
as we disregard our world.

I sit beside your beloved pond,
filled with waterlilies of magenta and white,
painted on the water’s surface,
while dragonflies flit about its glassy face.

I walk the paths you gifted us;
your voice speaks to me within the trees
as you sing your great love song,
within this painted land and garden blooms.

Amidst the midday sun, stinging hot upon my neck,
I find shade beneath your willows,
as I gaze through tears of gratefulness,
at the quiet beauty you left behind.

Along the well-worn winding path,
we made our way between the burnt sienna of early sumac,
their fuzzy heads brushing against our arms,
as we basked in the rich ambiance of fall.

The smell of autumn in the air, clean and warm,
shadows long and drawn out, in September’s Mannerist style,
painted dark on the ochres and greens of the landscape,
we played our way home from our long days of school.

Rich days of golden sun on my back, long and lazy;
cicadas buzzing, grasshoppers guiding us along our way.
Memories transport me to this simpler time and place;
when my heart was still young and filled with newness of life.

When I was young, I had no voice,
no wings with which to find my dreams;
to soar above my shackled youth,
to find what lay beyond my chains.

Ever hungry for more, I ached to share
my art and skills, what joy I’d found,
but I perceived too few who shared
what grew within my struggling.

But through life’s growing pains and trials,
a chrysalis began to form,
and life inside transformed to bless,
and free me from my earth bound state.

Now fully formed and freed from chains,
I spread my wings and take to flight,
and soar to heights I’d never dreamed,
inside my life without my wings.

Twas yesterday I caught a glimpse: a monarch in our coldest month,
when winds of blizzards grey the snow around.
Its wing fluttered by my door alighting on my window pane
as if to say I bring you peace for winter will soon be gone.

I hurried to see its hues, and thought of warmer months of June
when frost was banished from our souls and green of life had sprung anew.
But as I took a second glance the image faded just as fast, and left instead
was one dead leaf that caught the evening winter moonshine full.

But still this image in my mind, persists; for bleak days winter brings,
for something dead can bring us hope with what was left.
So now I look for hidden cues, reminding me of strength within,
and let the fire of Monarch wings bring strength to help me fly again.

The local creek winks in the midday sun, beaconing us
to silently slip our barefoot feet into its cool.
We wait on the grey-brown crayfish to appear;
their bluish-gray pinchers raised, ready to do battle.

Carefully, we cup our fingers behind them,
along the clear water’s surface in wait,
as each scoot backward into our human nets,
clawing for release, we earn our battle wounds.

Midday comes too soon as we break out our bag lunches,
and we devour our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
We lie on the creek bank and close our eyes
as the August sun lulls us into a late summer bliss.

As we recall our legacy,
our voices rise in angry chants,
and once again we face the truth,
with handmade signs of our unrest.

America, in our cold grey day,
remembers its original sin,
of stolen sons, and lives enslaved,
to build our nation new as one.

Home of the free, we never were,
just more than other countries fare,
and we must see with eyes unblurred,
to history’s truth, we must endure.

The truth is we’re a selfish bunch,
with monarchy still reigning us,
and ‘til we treat all man as one,
“let freedom ring” is but a dream.

All earth embraces nature’s hues;
our deserts flash in ochre brown,
deep oceans filled with turquoise blues,
and forests hushed in greenest sound.

Our artist, mother nature paints,
the world, in colors we adore,
yet still we struggle with restraints,
that keep us from embracing more.

Our fellow man, a shade apart,
from deepest coal to parchment white,
we see, are part of nature’s art,
when each is seen in different light.

Embracing earth’s diversity,
our gift; the lives of human art,
but hope for future unity,
must grow in each and every heart.

Misted jade mountains tower above,
surrounding me in a semicircle of tropical beauty.
On a warm white beach of my sandy bed, I found my Tahitian tan,
as the rhythmic waves sang their song, lulling me to sleep.

At night under the khaki green canvas of a rented tent, I hid,
its sides protecting me from dangers in the night;
palm sized spiders, alien insects, and falling coconuts…
I hold out for the safety of day of my cozy soft sand.

Thus, I found myself at a time fate sneered at me;
as I pitched a tent under the coconut palms;
with other travelers I happened upon while adventuring:
ivy league graduates, a burly pipeline worker, and me.

My memories are rich with the smells, sounds, and feel of the Pacific;
vignettes of lush blanketed mountains, wrapped in bright turquoise seas,
and me, barefoot in the surf, eating fresh coconut from a newly cut husks,
enjoying golden days in the sun.

She whispers to me,
on the brisk morning breeze,
in the flowers of spring,
and the leaves on the trees.

Wrapping me in her arms,
when I’m troubled and scared,
reassuring and calm,
like the warmth of the air.

She oft holds my hand,
when we trek winter’s cold,
and she whispers to me,
“You are never alone”.

Though you left long ago,
you're not far from my side,
a mom and her daughter,
whose love never dies.

You whisper your love song tenderly
upon the early morning breeze.
You tease me awake, as the wind
plays her melody through my open window

Tiny prisms of light above my head
perform their morning ballet on the ceiling
each reflected from shards of painted glass
that harmonize on the wind.

This hymn of childhood memories;
mornings of endless possibilities;
each melody a reminder of beauty
each day sings to us on the wind.

Behind this mask I am but me;
no cover up, I’m message free.
No right or left to hide behind,
no secret message here to find.

Before you think I am that dim,
come crawl around within my skin,
I only wish to stay alive,
and carry on with my own life.

So, when you see a mask on me,  
please pass me by and let me be,
to safely go about my day,
and practice freedom my own way.

But think a bit before you ask,
when leaving home without your mask,
the price your freedom you might trade,
for neighbor’s lives you have betrayed.

Your thistles sprouted long ago, at our birth;
seeds from corrupt distant lands,
found root inside our soil flourishing, unchecked,
we grew blind to the depth of your scourge.

Small and unnoticed, in a corner of our land,
still, we turned and let you grow,
refusing to address your prickly stalk,
blindly thinking you would die.

But seeds of your thorns have grown throughout,
floating on the winds of hate, spreading its toxins,,
crowding out the wonder that could be ours,
spoiling its soil with your roots that run deep.

Now our land, filled with thorns, with deadly poison grow,
infested, a bountiful harvest of anger and hate.
We follow the rest in sorrow and shame,
in a land where wicked blooms grow.

The fourth, our nation’s birthday; a time for family, food and friends,
as we celebrate this holiday, we embrace our fellow man.
with our Weber grills ablaze, filled with ribs and bratwurst too,
a watermelon for dessert, topped off with wine or brew.

Those who join with us to celebrate, are all from different lands;
From the islands and the forests, to Sahara’s desert sands,
and together with our brothers, we give thanks and all embrace,
for all colors and all cultures make America our race.

But as we celebrate this year, in the land which we’ve been blessed,
we see our country differently, as we struggle through this mess.
With our virtual connections we reach out to those we love,
saying prayers for those who struggle that they’ll one day rise above.

Let us all remember blessings, and give thanks for what we have,
and together, with our brothers, find some peace throughout our land.
Though despite our troubles heavy, we’re alive to share this day,
with the land we all grew up in, and the mem’ries that we’ve made.

I’ve walked this graying, foreign land,
inviting me to tread its dust,
I’ve questioned why, this rugged path,
and why I’ve had to brave so much.

I’ve cried so many useless tears,
for heartbreaks life has trust on me,
which left my journey full of fears,
tormenting me incessantly.

Yet in this world that I’ve trudged through,
I’ve found some gifts I can’t ignore;
the childhood love I wished I knew,
and quiet that my strength restored.

So, with my feet set on the moon,
earth’s vision forms in front of me,
and I embrace this distant dune,
where I’ve been sent to be set free.

Within the world we’ve made our bed,
amidst the plagues I lay my head,
together as we struggle to survive.

My heart, though heavy for those lost,
I struggle with the debt and cost,
within our nation’s fragile future life.

I cannot fathom, nor believe,
our current state we’ve paid much heed
and listened to the future of our earth.

Though heavy on my heart it weights
Life’s giving us some brighter ways,
to count each day a precious future life.

Your voices whisper on the wind,
a haunting sigh; your spirit’s breath.
Entrapped the day your light was dimmed;
within the spot your bodies bled.

Amidst the ruins of yesterday,
your apparitions call to mind,
and heavily they weigh upon,
the childhood heart I left behind.

I chanced to hear you in my youth,
through songs and mystic fairytales,
with promises of happiness,
and perfect love that never fails.

When hints of love began to stir,
within this youthful heart of mine,
you cast your spell upon my soul,
and I like others fell in line.

But this heart became your plaything,
love rejecting yet again.
Never seeing I was but a fool,
when dealing with the world of men.

Now, filled with a host of cracks and scars,
I find this heart of mine has died,
and when I hear your tune begin,
I hold onto my heart and hide.

Oh, so bitter disenchanted love,
mocking me throughout the years,
I turn my back to you again,
and sit alone within my fears.

Amidst the heirs and privileged sect,
who in this land have laid their claim,
and while we’ve dozed our lives infect,
with arrogance, has brought us shame.

We claim of freedom in our land,
yet turn away those bitter cries,
of those who need compassioned hands,
while leaders hide in cloaks of lies.

Our anthem sings of bold, brave men,
yet bullies all around us hide,
among the political select
and those with killing guns divide.

We’ve sold our souls to those in power;
to those who’d rather gain than lead,
we're ransomed in our darkest hour,
to greedy black agendas feed.

Our ransomed states cannot sustain,
the beating of our separate hearts.
Unless our world can join as one,
we’ll all be forced to fight apart.

Our leaders in their crimson clothes,
made of the finest fabric found,
and those found backing their regime,
have set on them a royal crown.

Some blind to what is underneath;
hearts filled with darkness at their core,
stoked with divisiveness and greed,
they serve this narcissistic corp.

A leader’s job is this: to lead;
a Shepard, there to guard his flock,
in trials, they arm the battle lines,
protecting like the mighty hawk.

So, tear off the glitter and the glitz,
and tinsel of this TV game,
the constant barricade of shame,
tarnishing our nation and its name.

You are not here to entertain,
but lead us with the wisest minds,
but fools within their cloaks made new,
are still but fools; the worst of kinds.

In this our year of reckoning,
with demons we dare not discuss,
we cannot hide in cloaks of blame,
and hope this too shall pass from us.

Take up your right to choose again,
and send those tumbling to their knees,
for as they treated those they led,
so too their fate shall come to be.

Once through my bolted windowpane, so oft I saw the angry rain,
and as my life lie on the floor, I once endured a tortured war.
And through those rain-streaked by-gone days, my world was stained a muddied gray,
while fighting through the struggles of each day.

But now my window's open wide, the vastness of today can’t hide,
I see a world of brilliant hues, through eyes that see a different view.
‘Tis hope that brings me to my feet, and makes me dance with joy complete,
to sounds of life that come with bliss so sweet.

Life calls me now upon the wind, to join it’s dance of life again,
it brings joy to this aging soul, for what was broken, now’s made whole,
and through that window now I see, the beauty life was meant to be;
like magpies singing on the morning breeze.

“Cry the moon”, I heard her say,
to me this blighted, desolate day,
when time is short and life is old,
when hearts and feelings all run cold.

“Cry the moon”, I heard him say,
our world still stands in disarray.
Who’ll carry you ‘till morning light
and keep you safe throughout the night?

“Cry the moon”, the nations cried,
as thousands more laid down to die,
amidst the bombs and choking tears,
of hate that lasts throughout the years.

“Cry the moon”, the children cried,
and raised their palms to heaven wide,
they pled with God in skies above
to fill our world instead with love.

“Cry the moon”, the heavens played,
a hopeful hymn for those afraid.
When nightly news reports the cries,
and moonshine sweeps across the skies.

“Cry the moon”, the whole world cried,
despite the many who have died.
For we are still one family,
of multicolored ancestry.

So cry the world so all may hear
the plea to make hate disappear,
and make this Earth a better place
where all its people will be safe.

As we prepare for life ahead,
our days are spent in mortal fear,
amidst the news and rumors lie,
in gloom our futures seem unclear.

This fear, its blackness lies in wait;
of ceaseless, unrelenting stress,
this unseen monster steals our days,
and fills our nights with great unrest.

Tomorrow’s fears become today’s;
they paralyze and strip us bare,
as all must face tomorrow’s wave,
in this pandemic world we share.

But with this fear, yet comes the hope,
for all of mankind to embrace,
to look for stars amidst the night;
and feel the light of morning’s grace.

For though our path is hard to bear,
yet brighter days will come to pass,
reminding all who these times share:
of every moment’s preciousness.

Standing amidst the other gums,
in a land red orange with age,
you reach out your gnarled limbs,
outstretched to azure blue.

Gray, smooth bark belies your age,
your title, hard won among the saplings.
Through years of draught and culling fires,
you stood your ground.

My life is changing, transforming,
growing, without a whisper of notice.

No longer do I recognize myself,
for what I was yesterday has flown.

But regret is not within my heart,
for it becomes me, like the colors I wear.

For change is growth, and growth is life;
to live is change, the past is but a memory.