The memory of love

They're back again upon the bough
that once tall, vibrant, proud,
portrayed a greatness way beyond
my simple understanding.

I reached upward in need and awe;
how can it be they do not leave
that which now stands so forlorn
unadorned, un-beautified?

And so it is that naturally
seasons offer grief and grace
and all who stay the manner, means,
of inciting memory.

"Remember, remember!"
Birds aren't silent things
to not inspire through life's desire
to recuperate
and return again more beautiful
than the time before.

I understand that simply so
trees procreate more growth in rest
and they aren't silent things
to not speak of fortitude
in their season of frailty.

I hear the trees somewhere inside
but the birds are loud and clear
and I remember, remember,
a touch that once incited
the memory of love!