Her Seed..

She basks
  In her warmth
The seasons change
  Her dissolute sins
are December's own
  that stays with season
making long forlorn
  but not so soon,
I hear her sing
  her, amongst us
could sense the spring
  withered leaves
from ground,
  soar back to her twigs
blooms emerge,
  in minutes to follow,
the nascent ripe,
  I listen, as she
eulogize 'bout
  cuddling feathers
in her refuge
  And 'bout leaves in passing
Wind, making love
  all, under her sun.
there she stands
  as if on a stylobate
supporting colossal
  skies spread above
caressing few colors too
  on the iridescent bow.
Ah, forgive me, for I
  have no clue of corporeal
existence, but felt her
  as the tree from the seed
buried inside this pensive mind