Talk to Me

Don’t look at me

like that as I bend down

to sit and stare at your

physique you darling pile of

limbs which branch out

upon a small clot of land

where the sun barely

has a chance to

wipe its face

due to shadows in the lower

part of such a strutting

Queen of the woods-

you starlet among

the green where

mice and rabbits seem to find

solace as winter breaks

into lives hardened

from seasons except for the

Autumn one with

red and yellow and murky

with change from green

to falling kaleidoscopes of leaves

leaving the excitement

of hearing the sounds of loons

the rustle of owls finding

peace in your flirting

branches. How I admire the

shape of your vision

the depth of your encroachment

upon the beauty of this land

you gorgeous maple tree

you who is groomed

in the grace of Autumn splendour.