Nyah Patel // TREE

It is springtime when the girl returns

time and time again to the tree,

The one in front of the periwinkle house.


One might look at it and think

that it is old and it is dead,

that it is just a stick with leaves.


And that the swing on it

is tattered and decrepit

With its dirty, rough rope.


But to her the tree is beautiful,

straight out of a fairytale with its

waved branches fanning out like petals.


The moss growing on its earthy coat

is luscious and vermillion, and its wood

is intricate and marbled and ingrained.


The textured braid swaying from a branch

attaches to a stained red cushion,

allowing her to soar and stroke the heavens.


The leaves filter sunlight to the earth,

Creating rays of saffron and emerald

that intertwine in beams as they illuminate the earth.


The girl’s caramel locks and amber eyes

are set alight with jubilance, with energy

as she relishes in the evanescence of childhood


Until she too is part of the fleeting fairytale-

the princess and her majestic, magical tree

forever in the warmth of the golden afternoon.