My tree

I had my tree
it stood tall and yellow
menacing branches shake
as the ocean, sitting mellow.

one side to the other
gentle tingling stupor
sweet green pine odor
grasp of earth, the mother.

the debate of rain and wind
as to see whose space it is
rain waves twirl and sing
verses, the voice-- a breeze.

immersed in the view, my tree
poor victim of the season,
as green as it used to be.
now yellow, looses reason.