I am me.
I stand alone, or often with friends.
On me you see
how far the grass grows and the country extends.
To do or to be?
I both know and I feel, but also I share.
There is no fee;
if only to look, to gaze, or to stare.
Falling they flee,
drifting away to the end of the year,
forming a sea.
Beneath me they fall and they rise through our fear.
Nothing is free:
gathered and hauled off to make way for the snow.
Now to believe
I sink as you sink and grow as you grow
up to the knee.
You should have two though I haven’t one.
Parting is sweet.
Feel the rising heat of a rising sun.
What you will keep,
gains thrown to the wind as she warms up the land?
I wake from my sleep,
from my arm to my fingers outstretched from my hand.
Look for the bee.
He visits my blossoms and returns to his home,
coming to see
what I have to offer his honeycomb.
Nothing but glee
as death passes on and new life forms anew,
joy for the need
I fill on the Earth: the only home that is true.
I feel the heat
of the Sun whom we need and, more so, we want.
Sit in my seat,
your back to my side; green fruit for a taunt.
Shade to heal
all you are, in thirst and in blister,
cool as you feel
the heat of Moonshine’s fiery sister.
Look unto me:
ripe, now, rewarding the labor long toiled.
Giving to be
food for life and enjoyment and seeds for the soil.
Surely, you see.
What am I if not constant and faithful as night?
Behold! the Tree,
ever changing, but never moving from sight.
Behold! the Tree,
take of the bounty of my cycle of fame.
Most to believe,
faithful to be there to those like the same.