The solid tree

I have deciduously stripped my colors,
and drawn in.
Locked inside my house again.
Waiting for the rain.
The candle is my name.
Sending down my roots,
and reaching for the sky.
The cold Earth,
the morning dew,
I still feel you- I always do.
I feel the wind,
and smell the change coming.
I sway in the storm
of this life. I’m becoming
this home.
This hill, this grass, has always been,
and will always be in stone.
I’ve weathered through my years.
As one I stand alone.
Drinking from the stream,
a mighty little sunbeam
comes to be
that which strengthens me.

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