Across my window a maple tree
invokes the Muse of poetry
and goes on penning poems for me

Weeks ago in words green
it wrote of verdant summer scene
with natural flow and lyrical ease
on the pages of passing breeze

A few days back its diction changed
and ink from pink to orange ranged
the theme was mellowness of fall
and sway of time over big or small

Then on aging page of lawn
with falling leaves dawn by dawn
an elegy it made to its vernal grace
where shades of sorrow I could trace

Today the youthful tree is bare
its naked self is a beauty rare
a wordless verse, a silent song
to see and hear through winter long.

(06.02.2004)