You see yourself as a fall tree slowly creeping towards demise.
Each leaf that falls from your gnarled branches
and throws itself to the mercy of the whipping wind
that blows without end through your once proud plumage,
shaking you to the core,
edges you closer to a fearfully empty winter.

You once were green and strong,
standing tall and proud with no thought of the coming cold.
You now bend to the will of the passing seasons,
bowed and pushed nearer to the end of the world,
the end of your world.

But you are no mere fall tree.

When I look at you,
I do not see death.
I see beauty in your colors and in the way your cracked limbs twist.
I hear music in the wind that howls as it dances across your bark
and in the crunch of your leaves that cover the ground.

No, you are not simply a fall tree to me.

You are a tree,
one that still stands
and one that will never be
forgotten.

Have you ever
taken a picture
of a sunset,
just to realize that
you'll never capture
the true
colors,
the intense
emotions,
the full
beauty
of that moment?

Have you ever
taken a picture
of the crescent moon,
only to find that
you'll never catch
the unfolding
mysteries,
the brilliant
light,
the unwavering
loyalty
of that moment?

That's how I feel
when I try to
write poems
about you.