PEACH TREE

We met at the end of summer,
When the air was hot, and the ground dry,
When hope To my tree was called water,
As the leaves yellowed and dried,

Once we saw at the time of autumn,
I watched from the top of the hill,
As she bathed by the river at the bottom,
When we locked gazes, time stood still,

We huddled by the camp fire once,
As we shared a pint of ale and ginger,
I asked not her name, not once,
As we danced at the feast of winter,

And then it was time for spring,
When the flowers bloom,
And the birds flew atop soft wings,
 It wasn't just the flowers that bloomed

I can feel her scent in the winds,
While she plays admist the trees,
Followed by dog hopping on its hind,
As i write our tale beneath our favorite tree.


©--MARVALO Neboh.