© Sharonda D. Chery
As the season change from hot to cold
And I watch the leaves change their clothes
From green, to brown, from red to gold
They never seem to change their souls.
They remain humble even as they grow old,
They also hold on——
To their spirits as they dance in the wind,
Even though its man's cruelty in which they must contend.
And they cannot pretend to be uncaring,
And during their fruit bearing——-season,
They provide shade to people, but for no other reason,
Then they are rooted to the Earth,
And they are grown and know at their birth,
That they must put people first.
These trees are humble,
And I stare in disbelief as they smile and swagger in the wind.
They stand firm even as their leaves begin, to fall aimlessly,
Unto the concrete.
Their strong enough to withstand the rain,
And the sleet,
But of course this is what the trees mean to me.
Their never out for the fame,
Nor the glory,
But in their trunks and branches you can tell their story.
If nature and man has been nice,
And whether they're going to die soon,
And the trees are animated like Christmas tunes.
Trees hold and bind together like a suture,
Like man has never seen or done before,
For this is the personality of nature.