You and I are like a tree, our roots go deep.
In the youth of its life flourish bright, green buds sprouting out.
Then a winter sets in, branches stripped of its leaves, bare to brave the cold.
Seasons breathe into you and I, changes unexpected. I am sorry, I don’t know why?
Like the storm which comes up from behind, wind blows, howls, branches broken!
Yet she stands tall, still alive in the yard, tree.
Gradually more sun begins to shine, days will grow warmer as another changing season rolls by.
Love, we too, begin to blossom like a tree, all over again, in time, never forgotten.
Theresa M. Testaverde
Blueberry Lane, Gloucester
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