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
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