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Because I want my work read. The maple tree is in bloom now, heavy with green and leafy bough, Guardian to the rural roadside, with shaded head where birds hide. The tree stood tall when I was ten, and it will live to leaf again, and last another hundred score, while I'll be lucky for thirty more . In Autumn when the leaves are crisp and fall, the color elves with brush in hand put paint on trees and hills and fill the land with red, and brightest yellow, gold and orange-brown. The leaves in painted pallets hang and wait for winds to pull them from their perch, to land beneath the feet of those who happen by.