My love is a tree

It grows in the centre of my garden. With roses and lilies for company all year through. There is a pond below it. With white swans.

The tree is barren and dry. All its branches look up towards the sky. All its leaves fallen like true loves of mine. From afar, it looks like a dejected sculpture. A man drowning in sorrow.

And now, after 25 years, the tree is in bloom. The flowers are blossoming. The spring is here. New leaves fresh and green whistle as the breeze caresses them.

The first fruit of love falls from the tree. Ripe; ready to be eaten. Seize the day, the tree seems to tell me. So I call her to me, and we eat the forbidden fruit. Nothing tastes better.

And we sit under the tree and make love. I read a poem to her. And she is lost in my eyes.

She purrs. She kisses. She meows.

Seasons and skies change. Yet, under the shade of that tree… our love goes by.