The Old Tree

In spring’s blooming days
You could hear Winter’s 
Last whisper:
“This tree is bare often.
Sacrifice the leaves,
The stocks of flowers,
The greenest grass.
So that the old Can be 
destroyed.”
But the bare tree was the
New jewel
Destined to flower.
Destined to be the flower.
For through 1000 winters, 
It had been bare
And it had bloomed through
1000 springs.