A tree searching for its past leaves
Without taking a moment to bereave
The slow demise of its life-force,
The color of its days.
Praying for a return,
Hoping to relearn a way to make it
Without protection against the infection
The tree sits alone,
With remnants of things now known
Only in memory.
The only option remains,
To abstain until new leaves grow,
Until spring shows and the snows
Of its loss
Melt away in the light of a new day.
A hope of once again.