She turns her leaves to face the sun while squinting her eyes toward glory,
Her skin so thick and burnished at the edges: a reminder of the season of storms.
Though wind will blow and branches may crack, her sway hums to her story,
And seeds that drop from weathered hands can craft a life reborn.
So while boys and girls sit at her feet and pray for shooting stars,
She whispers through the wind that love will come and go with time,
That the thing you crave the most in life has always and forever been yours,
And to remember that mangled roots can grow the most fragrant of flowers.