Ginkgo: ‘got no one to blame but I don’t give up’ – patty

that old tree
with leaves like
butterflies
out my windowsill,
branches like fingers
and arms,
reaching out –
the embrace of nature’s past –
something to stare at
on long summer days
with the future
to think about,
but soon her colors
will change,
a yellow richer
than a Van Gogh,
and most likely,
we’ll know
as those branches hide
her bark
in sweet disarray,
the embarrassment of
oncoming fall would,
like all the others,
only last a season.

 

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