A trembling earth
cracks
under pressure,
tortured and teased
by the bullying wind.
Cornered by gusts,
the ground gives way,
and my red maple
falls,
ripped at the roots.
The windstorm's fury
fizzles
to a breeze,
and people move on,
swayed by the sunlight.
And I watch
from my knees,
in the dirt
of my garden,
beaten
by the heat
of an arrogant sun.
How they relish
the rays
that freckle my skin
and bask in the breezes
that mock me,
while I brown
like the leaves
of my pink bleeding hearts,
left to wither
in the bright, sunny
remnants.
The storm passes,
and fades
behind a clear sky,
taking with it
the menacing wind,
and the shade
from my fallen
red maple.
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