there are quite a few trees, already, sporting buds.
sweet, small, little things,
the breeze whispering into their ears secrets.
secrets of the "dead tree" in the abandoned yard filled with dead grass.
the one that always seems to be dead right before struggling to obtain life.
look at all of those trees surrounding the yards,
sprouting green leaves full of chlorophyll --
of light, and love, and beauty.
and then look at the one alone one, not even budding,
as if the branches are dead.
the beginnings of buds have begun to burst within the tree,
revealing small thoughts of hope.
rare thoughts.the rays of the sun hits the tree and the dead ground around it,
making the death and decay obvious to the others
and the trees shrink away, protecting their own huge leaves from the smell.
by now all of the (albeit small) leaves have grown -- thank god --
but in the summer heat, they have begun to wilt.
they are drooping, down down down
down by the pressure, down by the sun.
and slumped in defeat as they lost their battles.
most of the trees still sport all of their leaves
however, the alone one's are now falling with speed.
they litter the ground, sad and alone.
there is chilliness in the air, blowing the leaves to
anonymous places, far away from their old home.
even now, some trees still obtain their leaves,
but that one still stands alone with much the appearance of death.
the first frosts have started to grow over it,
but somehow not affecting the other trees,
ice caking the branches and sealing it in its fate.
in the chilly winter wind, leaves are blowing all around,
spreading, getting stuck in other branches,
but always avoiding the one that's alone.
that one doesn't blow leaves around. instead, it stays empty.
covered in frost, blown by the wind and jostled instead of staying still.
snow covers all of the trees, providing a cover for the dead one.
it hides the rotting bark, the barely surviving branches,
the empty trunk filled with dead bugs that were eating it inside out.
the branches sag from the weight of the feather-like snow.
while it never knows if the next year it’ll live.