Trees

In the summer, I am green with envy, Unless I am, An evergreen, Then I am just, A cluster of green, All year round. In the autumn, I blush and turn red, Different shades, Different colours, Turning, Racing each other. Then the season slows. I begin to crisp and crunch, Brown. In the winter, I am bare, Cold and empty. Nothing to show, No colour nor texture. The only cover, Is the fallen snow, Resting upon my arms. In the spring, The snow melts away, Discovering my new buds, The signs of new life, Upon my arms. I blossom, White, pink, white. Then my new green leaves come Awaiting my next summer.