An affection grown from pubescent soil, watered with innocent infatuation
Leaves of dreams gently budding, off naïve branches of a youth shortened.
The roots, ventricles of a choice-less heart, her fate twisted by a mothers hate.
No stopping nature’s fruition, and now the growth, the change, will not abate.
Her spring leaves, open and green, stretch brilliantly to reach the sunlight.
Her roots of youth still soft and warm, her sun remains golden and bright.
But his roots go far deeper than hers, once green leaves are already changing.
Growing stiff with age, as they reach deep into a sky that is steadily graying.
The years between them, once not so many, now shade her with their height.
She can’t stop the cold fear of abandonment, someday being left in his night.
Her heart wanders over the fruit, so delicately hanging off her branches.
Who will pick them up when they fall, when he is no longer there to catch them?
Will she watch his leaves flutter to the ground for years, while hers remain crisp?
When hers just begin to tinge with color, what will be the state of his?
Perhaps the soil of innocence should have been sated with more wisdom
So that she might have better acknowledged the future yet to come.
Never to know if it would have made any difference, not wishing it would be.
Just unable to fight the realization that her winter of life may be lonely.
Sixteen years were just another number then, seven years has changed the way she feels
Each year now deafens with its ring, creaking branches and wrinkled bark makes it real.
What will become of her in years to come, will she remain up on her hill alone
Mourning his once strong branches, solemnly tending all that he has sewn?
She imagines that this will be her fate; the acceptance is agony with a silent shout.
But she relishes the days she knows she has with love, because that is what life is about.