Awaited Ambers

“I’m afraid I won’t greet you this time”

The soft, cold wind makes me blush.
I lose my stern shades, I lose my verdance.

I remember a century ago, maybe it was two.
It’s hard to keep track, time passed as these branches grew.

I remember the days before they came up with my name, “The Great Oak,”
I might be younger then, but believe me when I say, the effect has lingered.

I recall the fall foliage knocking off my leaves on the first of September.
It resembled a much-awaited embrace.

But I’m afraid I must admit, the past decades have lingered with insurmountable desolation.

The sun sets and rises, it’s harsher than it used to be.
My fall embrace greets me weeks later at times.
My shades are muted, the foliage is shorter, the winter is brutal.

When I stood bare in the numbing frost, I was inundated with reminiscence. With how it used to be.
When instead of smoke dense haze, my reddened leaves and the autumnal winds swayed glaring at the stars.
Trust me, on a good day, I made the twigs belive they could see Mars.

Spring soothes me, I gain my verdance yet I wait.
Each epoch, I’ve stood tall in the face of midsummer in await of my muse.

I’m afraid to say my love, my efforts were charred one fateful day in June.
I felt the heat trickling up one side, yet it didn’t feel uncommon,
I was habituated to the discomfort.
A sharp, less common horror crept up as I felt my exterior set ablaze.

These weren’t the orange hues I was waiting for.