This tree,
My companion
In the front yard.
You are the filter
Through which I watch
The winter sky.
Sunrises, stars,
The sliver of a moon
In the pre-dawn light.
Some may call you bare.
I see the beauty of
Your shape,
Your branches, strong,
The witness that winter
Is not dead.
It brings a time of reflection,
Of seeing through other filters.
And now, with Spring,
You sprout new life.
You tell an Easter story,
That death has no power.
Resurrection changes all.
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