There’s a tree in the park slowly dying
It makes my heart ache to see it
Standing majestic still
Silhouetted against the skyline
All sharp and naked limbed
Life force ebbing away. . .

And so on my walks I am hugging it
Loving it back to leaf and bud
Hopeful of what the Spring will bring. . .

But the Wheel of the Year turns
And there is no resurrection
Nature will have its way
Death strips us of our beauty in form
Bark falls and lies
And on my walks unable to bear it
I gather pieces and work my magic. . .

Weaving colour and vitality where none remain
I am part of a renaissance
Mindful of the Oneness of all life
And the transition the world calls death. . .