My beautiful sharp edges
With warm love,
But I taste sweeter on sticky fingers
In spring my daughters will visit me
They will hold balls every dawn
Filling the air
With butterfly beckoning Fragrances
They will leave sweet gifts of farewell.
That is the story of how you and I became friends.
Even though I look majestic now
Covered in rime
I count months in moments
Which brings to me memories of you
As a child
Sitting in my shade
Telling me her stories of love
For the multi-coloured caterpillar
In the new flower patch.
The black-orange spider whose web you tried decorating
With small flowered Ixora.
The Araneae, she cut threads from her silk web
To clear her trapping canvas off your sweet labour
Which, she preferred plain, speckled and glimmering with dew
Many years have passed
I have strong dark rings to show for each one I spend
Waiting for you to return
To feel your fingers caressing my old bark
Where you, in those lost years would have exclaimed
With joyful wonder
Every time you found pastel tinted eggs
You believed butterflies laid
In some of the moments I remember you,
I wish I wasn’t an existence immobile and mute
To tell you that
Every time you felt waves of euphoric love in your heart
They reached me in the wind.
I caught them
And made wishes for you.
Wherever you are,
I hope they all come true.
Till then, I’ll continue holding the sky up
Remembering your songs
Dreaming of you.