The fog drifting just above the field of grass,
Sprinkled with spurts of dandelions.
Morning dewdrops weigh down the soft yellow pedals.
The decollate clouds making faces no one knows.
The bee’s diminutive, expeditious wings flutter,
Through the brisk movement of trees shivering in the wind.
The snow arrives, and the leaves impetuously fall off,
Leaving the bare tree, frozen, chilled, uneasy.
Then after the disrobed trunk is waiting,
I come and bring a blanket.
There’s nothing else that I can do,
Put the leaves back on with glue?
I wrap the blanket tight around the stump,
And drink my tea looking at the untouched land.
Spring occurs, and the leaves reappear,
And I have nowhere to go.
The limb comes down to touch my face,
It can see the anguish I express.
I guess its time for me to disperse,
Just like the tree I used to know.