A tree, aged one , standing alone
beside a river, is seen gloomy.
The first leaf of the tree
that comes out of the crust,
sees the soft light of the sun first.
Consuming light and water in the breeze
it grows, now one year running.
But for a natural vagary of summer,
a brunt of ill wind falls off the leaf,
then is that passing gently down
With a heavy mind,
the tree keeps looking at the leaf
that fails to transcend the flux of time.