The tree was slowly fading,
And its leaves were fading, too.
It gave up all the waiting:
Waiting on something new.

Do the trees feel down and hopeless,
The way we often do,
When the whole has lost its wholeness,
And hearts turn cold and blue?

'Tis why they shake and shiver,
Beneath the spell of the moon,
Casting shadows by the river,
Where their leaves will soon be strewn.

The heat of the heart;
The chill of love's lies:
—'Twas doomed from the start
(You can't escape demise).

Though, what if its leaves
Are brazen and bristled,
And tougher than greaves--
Would they hope...just a little?

Would the trees sing songs of hope,
Like we often do,
When poised atop a narrow rope,
And down below is you?

It's why they whip and whistle,
To the rhythm of the wind,
And when it starts to fizzle,
It remembers a love still hinged.

So wind and cold
—and whispers untold,
Shake—shake! the tree with all of your might,
And—take! the leaves far into the night;
But through the rain,
And through the snow,
You'll never move a tree of hope.