Come spring –
a fresh lease of green
drapes the bare branches.
The leaves, dancing and whistling
to the tunes of the wind
playing, screaming, and singing,
in each other’s company, enjoying.
Singing to one another
promises of sticking together,
come what may, through it all.
The song goes on,
but the count goes down,
not noticed or just unacknowledged,
first by one and then by many more.
the song, still, goes on.
And the promises too, of course.
The song goes on and on and on.
Until silence falls upon, when all
of them are gone. The tree, knowing well,
watches on – it won’t be long before
a new bunch springs up to sing the song.