An Iron Tree 15-03-24
The autumn wind betrays the green facade,
sweeping crisp brown leaves through the air.
They swirl and scatter to fall beneath the feet
of a secret yearning, an iron tree.
Who's trunk is dotted with splashes of rust,
littered with clumps of grime and dust;
its gelid branches devoid of life
like parched scepters.
Nothing lives in the clearing beside.
There is no birdsong nor telltale sound
of leaves crunching underfoot,
only the rustling of distant bushes and trees,
a trail of fading footsteps and a shadow
who lies, sheltering and huddling
at the metallic base. The rain, wind and leaves
may batter it day on day
but it will wait till the iron tree blossoms
then dissolve to join the silhouette of flowering love.
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