The Old Red Maple
Too long since smooth sapling skin
bent supple with the slightest breeze;
now stretched, fissured and furrowed -
bored, burned and bent -
sliced, scarred and carved, yet
I have lived wonderfully and fully.
Old limbs that once swung
a laughing child and sheltered
more than one forbidden kiss;
the only witness to many lonely tears
and, at least as many hopeful prayers.
Why pensive then, when so many
would desire my fate?
Perhaps those melancholy desires
for what was, when I stood not
quite as tall, when many
proud elders surrounded me,
wise and strong but now gone.
I will soon join them but
today a Robin tickles my brow -
a home for one more brood
and October will find one last shout
of crimson beauty ... I am still
proud.
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