evergreen

i wrote a story
and pinned the pages
to the branches
of a tree

the story grew
words blossumed
and sang so sweetly
that i could not
tell the difference
between the birds
and the words

in the warmer days
the pages hung still
the words quiet
the burning sun curled
and i sat in shelter
beneath an ever-growing story

the pages of my story
turned brown
and fell
they covered the ground
making a carpet
to walk on

with rain
my story went to mush
beautiful sentences
fragmented
well-chosen words
broke-down

the tree is bare now
under cold branches
a child plays
in the mud