We stand on the side of a hill
a beech tree and I, as the
cold January wind blows between us
rustling its lingering foliage and stirring my thinning hair
Its leaves are bleached brown and brittle, that beech
devoid of the green that gave life in the summer sun
They hang on because of the tree’s inability
to let go of what it does not need anymore
Marcescence, the trait is called
I linger a moment, thinking on that
then turn and walk down my winding trail
holding tightly to a few things of my own
Yet There is Method 
Wonderful. Contemplative. Stirring.
Thanks for sharing.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Carol.
LikeLike
Tim, this is a completely lovely poem! The metaphor of the trees leaves hanging on as we do to whatever, as we get older. Touching poem.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Janice–I appreciate your comments!
LikeLike
Yea this one is beautiful! Love it. Thanks for sharing.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Jonathan!
LikeLike
Appreciations for your lovely words & grateful for a new-to-me-word.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Jan, for reading, and for your comments. I love the everything about the word marcescence, especially the way it sounds!
LikeLike
Great word marcescence Tim. I have also used it in a poem about autumn leaves. I love the clever construction of your poem where the end of one stanza with the words, ‘They hang on because of the tree’s inability to let go of what it does not need anymore’ leads to the final stanza and its concluding gentle reflection upon your own withholdings.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Alan. This was a fun poem to write because I really have recently stood with a beech tree on the side of the mountain, and I really do hold on to things I needn’t. I just had to figure out how to put it all in words.
LikeLike
I have been eyeing those beech leaves on my walks this winter. Your poem captures them so well and ties them into your own reflections. Nice.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Kay! I do love winter beech trees. 🙂
LikeLike
It’s definitely hard to let go of things sometimes. I like your poem. Ruth, thereisnosuchthingasagodforsakentown.blogspot.com
LikeLike
It is, no doubt. Thank you for reading and commenting, Ruth.
LikeLike