The Saddest Story

What once was verdant green

turns fiery orange, crimson red,

then slowly browns to death,

unties from living bonds,

lets go sustaining branches

drifts softly to the ground,

lies quiet in the darkened mud

among those gone before. 

All is lost in crumpled mire. 

Blades and veins and midribs

disappear amid the roots,

degrade, decline, decay. 

Soon they are no more,

just dirt returning to the dirt.  

No rich anticipated newness;

no fertile hope to live again. 

Covered over in the frosting snow,

icy cold beneath the drifting.  

A numbing, frigid mausoleum 

entombs what once was green. 

Luscious, budding brightness 

gives way to glaciered grave. 

It would be the saddest story yet

if not for spring, the resurrection!