Esmeralda

Her hands waved in the sudden gust that led the

Matron’s unspoken word to greet my nose with a fond
welcome.
An aroma that caused me to stop and gaze about
Her easy repose; a jewel set in nature’s landscape.
A maiden enjoying the sun in an afternoon bask.

So I sat for a while enjoying her virtue as she offered me

shade,
This lady, tender in heartwood, whose outstretched arms
Reach far beyond the measure of a sleeve or cuff.
She comforts timid ones humbly dwelling among
Wee cones and needles; sap and perfume.

Autumn walks, find her standing tall, faithful, and confident.

Caressing the ground with lullaby shadows that danced
In the winds, or bathing when the rain, that came to say
hello,
Chased furry critters beneath her swooping skirt,
And small birds, in the heights of her upper-most.

A day spilled into the weeks that make a month

And the lady I sought once more was sadly,
Taken by the hand of the holiday and given
To gathering and song, praise and adoration,
Standing by a window, dressed to cheer all who came near.

Now, alone, upon the ground on which her shadows danced

She is left not far from the footing she once knew
Slowly drying with calm composure, used, and cast away.
There is
Broken jewelry adorned on her body; glittering in the cold,
silently, and
Reflecting on the stump that gave her magnificence.

The green glory at the side of the road lay fading.

Cawing ravens search for bits of popcorn tangled in the
carcass,
Poking at gingerbread crumbs in the dirt gathered beneath
brittle branches.
There is nothing there. No, nothing now, but a season of
worldly tradition
Come to a close once more, a disgrace disguised from
everyone’s eyes under the soft falling snow.

Copyright 2002 © Thomas E. Buccine Jr.