The Birch Tree

The birch tree bends over the abandoned playground its papery thin bark peeling exposing the stark white wood beneath A few brown withered leaves that stubbornly refuse to fall continue clinging to its branches fluttering in the frigid winter wind like fringe from the tattered shroud of a lonesome ghost searching for fellow lost souls looming over the empty swings and the slide buried beneath a blanket of snow while the children who romp and sing songs in its shade gaze wistfully out of the window waiting patiently for spring as they sip from mugs of hot cocoa