Evergreen

I rise.

51 whirls around the sun—
I am growing tall.

Regrowth survived
the most recent burn.

Resting, steady and nourished
by my roots.

Each dawn—getting drunk
with light.

Needles long and soft—
cones on the way.

Bark rich, thick,
and firm.

Scent rising
to join the wind.

One day I may be cut
for Christmas celebration—

But first, I will offer my branches
to nest near the sky—

What new songs will the birds
bring this year?