The Tree

The tree stands bare as the dead leaves drop

Yet it heaves no sigh, nor let any tears drop

Patiently it goes through the season’s change

With infinite patience and a beauty strange.

With novel grace, it welcomes the spring

Amidst abounding blossoms, the sweet birds sing

Being aware of the conceit of the season’s play

For wasteful time brings the ultimate decay.

Humbly hanging down the fruit-laden tree

Lovingly sheltering the birds full of glee

Grow through life, the tree murmurs whole day

We’re here awhile, to bloom, to languish and decay.

 

©2018 Shaloo Walia All rights reserved

Advertisements

12 comments

Leave a Reply