Poem: No Matter the Weather

No Matter the Weather

In a day or few these leaves will lose their color.
They will turn brown and wither.
The next rain will strip them from the limbs.
They will fall to the ground
and all winter long they will rot,
feeding the forest until spring.

You have lived these many seasons,
died and grown again,
each new season a resurrection of sorts,
almost the same, but never quite.
Slowly, the tree grows,
year after year,
a beautiful way to age,
no matter the weather.

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