It begins with a birth

A tiny little blossom

It works itself up

From the top to the bottom

Slowly, It grows

Absorbs from the sun

Then one turns to six

And six to a ton

With the seasons

They change

Expieriencing all things

That life may arrange

In Spring, They're happy

Dreamlike, in love

Innocent, Tragic

A wistful dove

In Summer, They mature

Becoming lustful, wild

Sheding the innocence

They knew as a child

In Fall, Come the blues

A fight against the wind

Some of them make it

The others...transend

But in the end

Winter holds them captive

And slowly, they wither

No matter how adaptive

The Trunk is steady

The Branches, they be

Oh, what a wonderous thing

The Leaves of Trees