Sentinel of Seasons: An Ode to the Wise Maple

 

Sentinel of Seasons: An Ode to the Wise Maple

In yonder realm, where ages past unfold, There stands a maple tree, now grown so old.
Its bark, a cloak of wisdom, etched in time, Bearing the tales of nature's ancient rhyme.
 
For seventy-five years, it's held the ground, A steadfast sentinel, proud and renowned.
Through seasons' dance, its branches reached on high, Embracing sun and moon, with eager sigh.
 
In spring's embrace, a verdant gown it wears, As blossoms bloom, cascading in sweet airs.
The song of birds, a chorus to its grace, As tender leaves unfurl, a verdant embrace.
 
Summer's fervor lends shade beneath its boughs, A sanctuary where life finds cool respite now.
The dappled light, a dance of shadows' play, In tranquil peace, the world seems far away.
 
In autumn's twilight, leaves ablaze with fire, A grand display of hues, a sight to admire.
As golden embers drift to forest floor,
The maple's splendor shines forevermore.
 
Then winter comes, a cloak of snow it bears, A symbol of endurance, strength it shares.
Through frosty nights and chilly winter's breath, The maple stands, unwavering, till death.
 
So here's to thee, old maple, weathered true, Your majesty, a testament we hew.
In ancient tongue, a tale we now decree, A timeless ode to thee, in old English glee.

 

 ©10/25/2023,  R. L. Whitmire, All Rights Reserved