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.