No snow, no leaves
only bare branches
Fruits on the ground
mixed with mud.
"I'm still here",
says my tree
and his voice
sounds calm and proud.
Obviously, how distressed
by his neighbor
he cannot unfold his crown.
The scar of a branch
that was cut off a long time ago,
is shining in the rain.
"I'm still here",
says the tree confidently.
Blackbirds flit through the branches,
peck the remains of the apples.
The tree is holding his winter retreat,
retreats quietly into the earth,
remaining aware of all his friends,
with feathers, roots or legs.
"I am still here",
he murmurs, sending refreshing happiness.