A tree converses in a quiet way,

tossing branches, arching in the spring.

It greens it’s welcome, verdant home away

for birds who’ve traveled, longingly on wing.

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I tree in summer wears its glory light

richly pleased at how it lines the cloud

it stands attention, cooly tempers bright

with shady silence, helpful and unloud.

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A tree bears autumn like an aging crown

turning dying strength to color falls.

Striking gold-flash, orange, red and brown

scattering beauty as the north wind calls.

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A tree in winter stands a brave-ly ghost

enduring calmly all of winter’s stings

For saying nothing sometimes says the most

And widest winters end in mossing spring.

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Photo by ArWeltAtty Attila: https://www.pexels.com/photo/majestic-oak-tree-in-salzgitter-field-32571817/