Mr. Birch

I’m a birch and I’m black and white.

Sometimes I’m green but not at night.

I like the seasons, they’re my friends.

I’ve seen some starts along with some ends.


You know what’s the good thing when spring comes?

For the whole winter I’ve twiddled my thumbs.

When the leaves come, they make a nice pop.

This tells me to open up shop.

With my leaves I hear and see,

I talk with the birds and listen to a flea.

They ask questions, sometimes they sing.

Without my leaves I wouldn’t know a thing.


You know what’s good when it’s midsummer?

When you can hear the woodpecker-drummer.

If there’s a breeze in which the leaves sway,

It tickles me and makes my day.

If there’s not, they shade my bark,

Along with the squirrels who leave their mark.

Hiding an acorn or two in my hair,

Running up and down without a care.


You know what’s good when autumn is here?

When I get yellow and red in my ear.

The leaves fall down and I can’t see.

Neither can I hear, which makes me free.

I feel light as the leaves don’t weigh,

Dream in peace in the white and gray.

I have dreams of color and white,

Of dark things that are driven by light.


You know why I love the winter so cold?

Why I’ll love it till I’m twisted and old?

The frost that covers branch and twig,

Is the finest and lightest, coolest wig.

The ice on my hair makes me sapling-fresh,

It makes me want to dance and thresh.

I look like a bride and feel like a groom.

But just for a moment, then I start to bloom.


If you ask me, every season is glee.

But that would be silly, you’re asking a tree.


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