Draped against the setting sun is the
black silhouette of a tree without leaves.
In the late autumn he is bare, like
a skeleton, quivering in the breeze.
Upon his limbs perch the birds, gathered
to provide their friend with good company.
But when the season becomes too cold
they retreat to where they will be kept warmly.
Forgotten, then, he will stand amidst the
open field, unnoticed by all who happen passed.
And not until the air is warmed will
his friends return, singing of sunniness.
The tree is alone when seasons
are cold, and cherished when seasons are warm.
He must learn to brave the winter while
standing there, frigid, naked, twisted, torn.