In pieces....

Stems
and impressionable branches
bending under
some great
and willful blossoms;
then
a careful nurturing
by a
firm hand
anchoring it
to a
stiff
but occasionally bending
bamboo cane....
and it grows up,
strengthened
in head and mind,
as she towers,
years later
in benevolence
over
its own branches
lushly laden,
some with fruit,
brushed by some blossoms.

Cracks and scrapings,
loss of an aging bark,
breakages of confidences,
drying
of expectations,
animal abuse,
have matured
her into a
tolerant ,
shelter.

She can only
look up skywards
when,
at the end of a
wistful day,
Fate appears
in the form
of a
chain saw
in the hands
of someone
she trusted,
when
green meant green
and not
green with envy,
with a frill
of disdain......