An Ode to Maple Trees

In summer, the majestic maple trees
stretch their arms high and wide shading the ground.
Bright green, their leaves flutter as birds and bees
dart through, whispering wings the only sound.

Autumn maples are fire on the breeze.
Glimmering golds and searing reds are found
in every leaf my wond’ring visage sees
On branches high and dancing once they’re downed.

In winter, bared of leaves, the maple trees
hold fast against the wind and snow that mounds.
Their stalwart branches, refusing to freeze,
ignore the ice that is around them wound.

When spring arrives, the maples earn their fees
by spilling forth their pollen all around.
And you and I sink slowly to our knees
with running eyes and sinuses that pound.