The lonely hawthorn

In hues of amber and gold, the autumn breeze does blow,
A solitary tree stands tall, its grandeur on full show.
With branches outstretched, a spectacle to behold,
It whispers tales of seasons past, stories yet untold.

Its leaves once emerald green, now dance in graceful descent,
A kaleidoscope of colors, a vibrant testament.
They flutter and twirl, like confetti in the air,
Cascading gently to the ground, creating tapestries rare.

The tree, a stoic guardian, braving nature's whims,
Its bark etched with history, a repository of hymns.
Each scar and knot, a memory etched upon its skin,
A silent witness to the cycle that's forever been.

The air is filled with nostalgia, a bittersweet embrace,
As the sun's warmth fades, giving way to winter's grace.
Yet, in this fleeting season, the tree finds solace and peace,
For it knows that with each ending comes a new release.

Its branches may grow bare, stripped of their leafy gown,
But deep within its core, life's rhythm still resounds.
For even in dormancy, there lies a dormant spark,
A promise of rebirth, when daylight kisses the dark.

So, as autumn's tapestry weaves its enchanting spell,
Let us learn from the tree, its timeless wisdom to dwell.
In endings, find beginnings, in transitions, find delight,
Embrace the ever-changing world, with grace and inner light.

For just like the tree, we too must shed what's no longer needed,
Embrace the transformation, with hearts and minds unimpeded.
In the cycle of seasons, find solace, find home,
And let the tree in autumn forever inspire us to roam.