Spring has come to most of us
and with it green and leaves,
but this old tree with sturdy trunk
I think is stuck in autumn

He’s made a show of trying
to be a part of spring
with tiny green leaves sparsely spread
upon his graying limbs

It seems too much an effort
to put forth more than that
to immerse himself completely
in the showiness of spring

Though in younger days his head was full
of spring and green of things
I think that when my mother died
she took some of the green

So now he stands there,
arms outstretched and nearly bald
hoping that his rugged charm
will be enough offering this year

I hope he knows that his offering,
although it’s sparse this spring
has been enough throughout the years
to make a monument of him

He’s tired and he’s feeling old
I wonder if he’s dreaming
of embracing spring again--
of green embracing him…