Dry tears of fire fall in autumn.
The weeping for season’s change.
Cement bound, debris ridden,
Yet of enough nobility to selflessly offer fragrance and shade.
Birds harbor among woody veins dancing in the wind,
A resolute elegance rigidly natural.
There is no bite to its bark
Only time logged within a ring.
Technologically tainted spires tower,
They surround the noble dryad.
Standing firm in minute glory,
It might pale in terms of scale,
But lady justice tips its own towards natural perfection.
Memories butterfly about the city,
Of dreams of enchanted forests,
Or distant memories of earthen roads.
Far off times where mother was respected and adored.
A thousand ochre tears fall in autumn
and I smile within a memory.
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