If you were my tree I would cherish you.
I would watch as the spring rain draped you in diamonds…thousands of them falling onto a soft carpet of mellow green.
If you were my tree you would be planted on the slight rise of a berm, echoed by artfully arranged moss covered boulders.
There would be a stone Japanese pagoda lantern lit at dusk so your blossoms could cast shadows on the stone.
The path that wandered through would be gravel that was raked like a haiku daily.
Your branches would softly arch over the red ferns I would plant at your roots.
The moss would glisten, and shine in the lantern light.
If you were my tree your leaves would be reflected in the waters of the pond beneath.
As your petals fell onto the dark glasslike surface they would float cuplike, tiny boats driven by the breeze.
I would plant lilies, and erythryium, tiny star like blossoms, delicate leaved, and starry eyed.
In the heat of a summer afternoon, we would relax under the shelter of your cool branches.
As Autumn advanced we would watch your golden foliage turn crisp, and fall into the pond.
The winters would mean stark limbs, and snow covered photos as you slept a slumber of the dormant with a icy pond at your feet.
And once again in the spring, soft green buds would arrive, with creamy pink tinged blooms opened into the new air.
If you were my tree…