Spring arrives. The snow is brushed away.
And life springs once more to a tree.
It was bare. With its loneliness.
But now has its leaves once more.

They rustle and trace the wind together.
As one, as a tree,
And when the sun would appear at noon,
Arm and fingers would reach.

But then one day the wind would blow.
or chills would take the air.
And one leaf would would no longer live anymore.
Plucked off it's home. it's tree.

The tree feels the empty spot on it's branch.
Bearing the weight of its absence.
Soon all leave him. All his leaves.
And again he is with no more.

A bare sculpture is all again that remains.
No colors. or brilliance.
It carries all the weight of its solitude.
Until. That season. Where all blooms.

A green bud will appear on the withered branch,
And take that as its home.
It's a new life, A new companion
One to take place of the old.