I’ll catch your paper petals
Spinning freefall like December tears.
I’ll hold those flailing flares
Sent tumbling by life’s rough grey.
I’ll lay them on my open boughs
-notes of silent symphony scattered on a score.
I’ll wear them as a weightless robe
lest they set as rime underfoot, tear-torn.
I’ll spread my life against scorching rays
while your new burst candles flare.
I’ll canopy shade the blinding bright
until rich green’s turned russet by the harvest moon.
I’ll drop my leaves when hallowed bats swoop
to let the last streams tired-warm you.
I’ll bend and scythe-slice winter winds
so your evergreen is never burnt bare.
Withstanding. Bystanding. Trees in a lawn.