THE RED MAPLE

A master artist in the sun-kissed leaves Of a scarlet maple loved by me for years, First paints a verdant robe until appears The autumn time, then marvel great conceives. Through darkest night, high noon, and splendent eves His wondrous work goes on, unknown to fears, Although my maple has her unshed tears, Until her greatest glory he achieves. Then yields she all her riches quite content; For man and bird and beast her life is spent; In turn to every tree hath prophesied, To mortal man hath plainly said, “The best Waits him who gives his all, then goes to rest; Thus life and even death are glorified.”