季節

As the wind in the willows and the breeze through the trees
    sing the ending of summer and the memory of spring
all the leaves feel the weight of the world as they fall
    some too early in the season, others falling not at all.
For the staunch in the crowd who remain evergreen
    bodes the promise of a season they can play as they please;
With the whipping of wind and the bowing of branch
    comes the certain comfort knowledge that their leaves won't detach
with the coming of fall and the leaving of spring
    like so many fallen comrades whose deciduous leaves
see them barren and stark in the cold winter funk
    all alone but for squirrels who nest in their trunks.
But those strong tall and piney go soldiering on
    through the swinging of axes and singing of songs;
Past the turkey and gravy they stay much the same,
    always safe there in midair quite verdant and tame.
Once the bells have all rung and the new year's been sung
    and the greenery peeks through the blanket of snow,
lasting verdancy pales in the light of the dales
    fresh and new with their blanket of blossoms and dew.

Ever green are they now, but the blossoming bough
holds more beauty in part due to feelings of heart
made more painfully clear when the coming of year
fills the cycle of death and rebirth with such mirth
that the dry brittle bones crunching milk tea and scones
seem to only enhance the new thrill of the chance
that this beautiful bloom will be evergreen too.