THE LAST TREE OF FALL

At a fork in the road you catch my eye,
a straggler,
magnificent in saffron.

All the trees around you fail to compare.
Already, they have been stripped bare,
their knotty limbs like skeleton fingers
grasping at the air.

I cannot help but stare,
for you are wondrous in your simplicity.
The sinking sun casts you in crimson rays
and you shimmer,
aflame.

A late bloomer, you have come of age. 
Once a mere tree, you have been transformed.
You are beautiful.
Divine.​

© Betty Bleen
www.toocutetoboop.com