Year of a tree

Your branches reach out like bending arms and crooked fingers,
Trying to reach the sky and the sun,
Your tall and years old,
In winter barren almost looking dead,
Spring is on it's way not long now.

Your branches are showing green buds,
Your fingers colouring up,
Every day looking greener,
Still reaching for the sky and sun,
One day small flowers start to show,
Your coming to life.

Soon blossoms are aglow,
Sweet flower scent fills the air,
Green leafs shoot outwards,
Your branches no longer bare,
Birds begin to nest.

As the blossom drops the ground is awash with pink,
Almost like a plush carpet to tread upon,
Full of a green canopy of leaves,
To protect you from the bright hot sun,
You stay green for some time.

Late in the year your leaves turn various colours,
Rust, brown, orange, yellow and some staying green,
As they drop your branches start to show,
Seeing your bending arms and crooked fingers once more,
Looking almost dead its winter again.