Deciduous

Once newly shaped, when buds do open up. Unfurling sense, one’s eyes of Spring arise. A mother-oak, her branches grasp bird-cries. The leaves ring bell, the beaks do come to sup And sip, foliage turns into a cup. The soar-uplift of the branches - owls, wise. The nestled memories, these are the highs. Autumn wind-verve and ink decree break up. Down, down into the pile of yellow, reds, Orange and brown. Up, up, the kids do pop. Such fun as oaks bluster about and lose Their trimming sooth, do bend and shake their heads. Winter with caps seize those so bald on top. Those frozen trees, seasoned, with diff’rent views.