She cried. The tree cried. When the last of her leaves, Fell- following the season. The tree cried, As the leaf got carried away, By the gentle gush of wind. The tree cried watching The leaf settling on the ground, Away from her. She was helpless. She was depressed. Now she stands barren, Like a lady impotent. Her once fully ripe bosom, Now only the dark veins visible, Devoid of flesh and blood. It was only some days before, During spring, that, She was fertile enough, To produce a full canopy. She had her squad of guests coming, To visit her leaf babies. The birds, squirrels and all, Singing and dancing and jumping, Celebrating the merry time. The onset of summer. Nothing changed much. They were all having their Pretty times in green. They were etching memories, Knowing little that they, Cannot last long. These happy times are the antidotes For what the tree would go through, In autumn and winter. The summer too passed. Then stepped in autumn. The leaves turned coppery, The leaves turned pale. The tree looked as if painted Yellow and Orange. The many shades of green slowly vanished, Into the warm shade of the season. One by one, the leaves fell. As she does all the time, She hoped – the rest would stay. But against her hope was the play. More and more leaves fell, Till there was only one left. But that too, not for long. She cried. The tree cried. When the last of her leaves, Fell- following the season. The tree cried, As the leaf got carried away, By the gentle gush of wind. The tree cried watching The leaf settling on the ground, Away from her. Autumn paved way for winter. The tree stood firm throughout- Naked and frozen. Enduring heavy winds and snow, Clinging on to the memories she made. Because she knew, Winter won’t last forever. The winter too shall pass and Must come Spring. She would be alive again, She would be fertile again. And she waited. The tree waited.