Maple

Well I'm at a loss to be frank, but I did however come across an old poem I did for a test back in Australia. I enjoyed it and thought someone, if anyone, who looks at this would enjoy it as well.


In the distance stood an old maple tree. The bark on it weathered by timeand the etchings of lovers who had found shelter under its vast branches.The moonlight shines onto the autumn leaves, setting the limbs ablaze. Thisis where I will wait for her. I had seen her here before many years ago.She never saw me, but I was there. She and her lover had visited many timesin the past, carving their initials into the wood of the tree. It was atthis spot where they looked at the rolling fields on a summers night,catching fireflys and rolling through the grass getting it caught throughher hair.During spring the two of them picked flowers from the plains, strewing themthrough her hair and pinning them on her jeans. But she never took noticeof me. She was infatuated with her lover, staring at him with thosebeautiful blue eyes while he would set up for a picnic in the sun. Aswinter dawned, the two started to visit less. The man became very ill andwas to weak to move on. One day, the the girl came with the mans family.They buried a hole just big enough for the coffin they brought with them.At that moment, she caught a glimpse of me. Only a quick glance, but enoughto know of my presence. And now many moons later, I wait for her to visither lover. On this falls eve, the crisp air whips at the tree, and herflowing hair covers her face and sticks to the warm tears running from hereyes.At that moment our eyes meet. The feeling of loneliness dissolves from me.But she turns away and leaves me. I do not run after her. My burden keepsme chained to the spot. Her lovers death opened her eyes, but not herheart. I do not expect any less, for who could love a ghost?