it’s been a long day

six hours of rehearsals

you’re only fourteen now

the whole world’s at your disposal

sit on the floor

feel the wood on your back

hear the ringing of the bells

find your costume on the rack

hand in hand with your friends

you walk in the cold

a flash of white catches your attention

and a tear softly rolled

the first blossoms you’d seen

on that old, dying tree

a metaphor perhaps

of when one became three

the flowers on the branches

mirrored the flowers in your heart

and the smile spread across your face

that kept you from falling apart

so this is an ode to that tree

with its young, tentative life

the hands on each of your shoulders

rang clear the end of strife