.
.
You call me tree
but what is that to me?
My name is green
in the summer
when the zephyr fondles me.
In winter
I am bare-branch
dancing against a fat sky.
I am home to tiny things
you choose not to see.
I am ancient
unless you chop me down
with your ax
and turn me into wall
or chair
or totem pole.
I like that one
for then you see
my many faces
and I see all of yours
and someday
when you look
the other way
I shall name you.
.
© 2014, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright
Seasonings 