One Windy Morn

 
This windy morn
has left its debris on my path
the once elegant cypress
that's stood for years, now dead and gone
a path once filled
by the orchestra of birds
hiding in its foliage
I shall overpass its
fresh weeping skeleton 
whilst reflecting on 
oh how its shade has protected me from the hot sun  
and from the unpredictable powers of
Mother Nature's wrath 
I can tell you, we've had many
after all, we still have
four seasons here 
soon it will be time
to pot my strawberry seeds
but they'll never be a patch on that
magnificent cypress.