A toddler oak glints like rubies.
Too young for acorns, trunk,
Or boughs, just a sprig,
a sprout, a snip of joy,
with earth between its toes,
it has unfolded proudly.
Its leaves flower in fall,
alight, aglow, aflame,
crimson with yearning for spring.
Its sire has amber leaves and brown
scattered about the ground.
Does the tiny tree dread
gale force winds, ice and snow
more than its older kin?

Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham