The apple Tree

The Apple tree …

In winter, the stems of the Apple tree in my backyard turned grey and black,

It looked rather sad as all the branches and the red crab apples turned slack.

The beautiful green, yellow and red autumn colors were under attack,

All the attributes, the galore; it had boasted a few months back.

At times when I felt blue, there was something that it did assure,

I will rise like my apple tree with full colors, that was for sure.

Sometimes it looked pretty and happy when it became white in snow,

I was happy, for it gave me hope to shine even when feeling the wintery low.

In April, I waited anxiously for the little buds to reappear,

Every morning checking for that one tiny little sprout to appear.

Then slowly counting the offshoots carefully on branches far and near,

Until it kept making abundant leaves, making it hard for me to steer.

Then one day I opened my window in the early morning hours,

There was my apple tree, dancing in the rain with shiny white flowers.

I unfailingly knew my tree was always alive,

Was just conspiring on me to see me surprised.

I glanced at it every morning, a silent conversation between the tree and me,

Life never stops to juggle us between the highs and lows, and so it be.

Winter or summer, life will always bring a variety you will see,

And something to look forward to, like my apple tree.