A Tree and Age I

This tree that shades
the window next to which I lie,
blossomed on days when sun was bright
and filled my window
with rustling light.

The white petaled blossoms on my tree
ended the day’s monotony
with a dancing light I never knew
except reflections
from wind and snow.

Petals have changed
to a heavy red I still can see outside my bed.
The weight of fruit
weighs branches down,
bending some limbs to the ground.

And if my hair were not so gray
and I could remember
how to play,
I would climb the tree to its tippy-top
and collect all the peaches
that I could reach.