the tree

The Tree

I’m the lone tree you see on top of a hill, you
can’t avoid seeing me when you are scanning
the horizon. Yet many claim not to have seen me,
like I should be an anonymous tree in the forest;

I have no defense against the cold wind of change,
but my trunk is solid my leaves still green, a hawk
has its nest in my crown and in a hollow in my
trunk a red fox smile to no one in particular.

I have time wait for the wind to blows itself into
a zephyr that whispers soft words of appreciation,
preferable on a day when the air is so clear that
you can see forever and fly should you wish to.