I stand barren until very late spring
in a yard of evergreens and hundred-year oaks
young and a stick figure,
not enough rings under my bark.
During winter, I am the sad reminder
that I haven’t grown as much as I wished
The old shrub I gaze upon
promises a couple of robins every year
no birds trusted my slender branches with their nest.
In summer I grow ravenously
turning my leaves basil green towards the sun
rapidly stretching my roots in all directions
before the chilly winds knock the effort off my twigs
and I am stalled from my dreams.
One day I will be big, great, and strong,
Squirrels will scramble to my trunk without hesitation.
Eagles will fight to house upon by boughs.
I entrust my hope to time.