Oh regal, beauteous maple, long you’ve stood,
Bowing o’er my porch, through sun and storm,
You share your shade until, in Fall, your leaves
announce (in whispers) hints of coming frost.
Your beauty tells a tale – but that’s not all,
Your purpose spreads beyond your leaves of gold:
You’re often borrowed, tapped for sweetening sap
That spreads atop our breakfast table stacks.
For baseball bats and hefty bowling balls,
For cutting boards and family dining suites,
For cellos, and acoustic, rocking strings,
For violins whose timbres tremble deep.
We marvel as your helicopter seeds
serenely waft in Spring and fall to earth,
Shedding free (from bursting, vibrant leaves)
En masse, in blizzard- blinding sheets of green.
In following your lineage I do find
that centuries have come and gone beneath
your textured trunk; through winter storms
and summer swelt’ring sun, you’ve stood.
Sure as each year, we rue the fade of sun,
We’re oft consoled by foliage on display,
Your hues of rusty orange, crimson gold,
Completing cycles, wrap, begin again.
For e’en ‘mid wintry white, your frames reach tall
and regal, ‘gainst the shimmering snow,
Continuing your ever-skyward soar,
Resilient and resplendent evermore.