Everything Spring

 

I am relaxed on the front porch
of my countryside home,
and tranquility is all about me.
I hear the gentle waving
of Old Glory, reminding me
that freedom isn't free,
and a slothful March breeze
comforts the depths of my soul.
In the distance I can perceive
the soft sound of children laughing,
birds chirping their mating calls,
and every nook and cranny is filled
with the freshness of spring. 
Across the road
stands a colossal sycamore,
its height seventy feet or more.
From the tree’s base
up to thirty feet or so,
the bark is an unappealing brown.
But that is as it should be,
so I must accept it without question.
Leaning back to look higher,
the bark becomes smooth,
casting a silvery brightness
because of the sun’s glorious rays.
Looking higher still, its limbs branch out, 
becoming the bony fingers
of an ancient hand.
And at the end of each digit
is a myriad of twigs that will display
the budding of green leaves,
holding onto them
through howling winds and drenching rains
that spring and summer bring at will.
Once autumn sneaks around the corner,
all twigs will break their ties with the leaves,
releasing them to drift like baby birds
being pushed from their nests in spring.

©Copyright 2016 By David Lee Thompson