HB (2/24/1932 / Houghton Lake, Michigan)

Trees And Seasons

I look out my window and stare at the trees,
with the wind blowing, and shaking the leaves,
when fall gets here with it diminishing light,
soon there will be frost most every night,
it is then I watch the leaves as their colors change,
from green to yellow, orange, then red is their range,
but when they turn brown and are ready to fall,
I find the trees, the least interesting of all,
the trees with no make up are ugly and plain,
with their limbs groaning they must be in pain,
all through the winter they just stand there and shake,
makes me wonder how much cold they can take,
but soon spring comes and the sap starts to seep,
the trees wake up from their long winter sleep,
then come the buds, that will soon sprout,
won't be very long till the leaves will come out,
giving the tree its beauty, for all to see,
and making some shade for you and for me,
the birds all come back from their trip to the south,
making their nests, with the stuff in their mouth,
wont be long till I hear the cheep,
of little birds in their nests not asleep,
all through the summer the tree is the place,
where birds and squirrels, prolong their race,
then all too quickly summer has past,
and again I will wonder how long, that old tree will last.

by Harry Bryant

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