Blooming Beauty on the Hill

blooming  beauty on the hill
dropping pink taffeta tears
that tell your winter story
year after endless years

ringing round your core
a tender bed beckoning
the barefoot, the child, the reader 
the writer with poised pen

arms upon which lithely grow
new leaves glossy green
for tempest sky they reach
ever bearing winds

bracing bitter cold
shaking off the rain
cascading creviced folds
drawing strength out of pain

all-the-while steady
deepest roots withstand
hurricane force seasons
from sun to broken branches

this soul has withstood
a life of fickle seasons, yet
somehow still worships the sun
while embracing heavy rains

these feet cannot pass
without paying respect
an altar to arboreal gods
who shall forever

~ Em C.


**stopped me on my tracks while on my walk today**