Beneath The Maple Tree

The air swept over the ice-blue sky
cooling the flames in the maple tree at
whose gnarled feet you sat.
It wore a coat of grey years
around its middle, but atop its aged arms
It became a candle, its
beads of fire trickling down
all around you, precious drops of gold
that curled into your auburn hair
until you and the tree were one
orange glow.