The tree out front has caught a rainbow kite
and stands revealed as predatory, too,
its branches having snatched from tethered flight
a piece of June to see the cold months through.
Will March winds drive the disparate apart
or rising sap cement their spurious bond?
However proud the independent heart,
captivity can make the captive fond.
So leave me soon when winter’s at an end,
take all those colours that you wear so well,
find out if spring and summer will expend
what loving me and being loved can’t quell.
I’ll wait for you as autumn reds comes down
and from this collar fashion you a crown.