A Tree

There's a tree I can see from my window
Birch, Oak, I do not know
But I do know it's been here longer than me
And quite possibly longer than you

Fat at the bottom and thin at the top
Its branches extend outward
Each dotted with the green foliage of Spring
The sign of Earth's rebirth

In fall the tree will wear an orange coat
Bits of it falling to the ground
In winter it will be bare, a mere skeleton
Its knobs and blemishes apparent

The tree is still alive and growing higher
Trying to touch the face of God
I watch it sway from my window, caught in an evening breeze
Its rhythm and motions natural