Old Man Maple
Is pushing a hundred, we think.
Each spring and fall, he gives his all.
Makes emerald hall,
Speckled sun.
Sighs with the whim of the wind.
To one who lays beneath his tower,
Awaiting his star’s communion,
Such things are shown!
Layers of focus, light on dark.
Rustles of sound.
An overture to the divine.
Such whimsy is despised by some,
Pointing to broken branches,
Dented roofs, clogged eaves,
Upset neighbors.
Me? I do the repairs
And wait
For next summer’s hammock time.
Aremyfeetofftheground 
Greetings fellow nature lover! I really enjoyed your poem and loved the ‘speckled sun’ line in particular! I am a creative life coach with a passion for poetry and have a WordPress blog in case you have time for a read? http://www.peacockpoetryblog.wordpress.com Have a good weekend! Sam 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Love this.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you!
LikeLiked by 1 person
You’re welcome. I’m a fanatic nature lover.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Our neighbor wanted the tree cut down. We compromised by removing some of the offending limbs.
LikeLiked by 1 person
That’s good. It is too stately and wonderful to cut down.
LikeLiked by 1 person
We have two of them, side-by-side, in our yard. Two Easters ago, we had ice rain, and some of the larger limbs collapsed onto the neighbours property, causing considerable damage.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ouch!
LikeLike
Love maple trees. We don’t have them here (too hot). So I treat my oaks as if they were maple! Great piece, again!
LikeLiked by 1 person