Late Bloomer

The tree that learned to shine alone

My roots began in New England’s ground,

soft fertile earth where hope was found,

until that soil turned into sand

and scattered me to a harsher land.

From autumn maples blazing high

to a palm, pole-thin against the sky,

my branches sparse, my colors slow

to match the brilliance others show.

They burned their brightest long before

my late-born hues could reach the floor.

When their light dimmed, mine rose instead,

a lonely glow their fading shed.

A forest once enclosed my days

where I felt lost within its maze;

now I stand solitary, free,

a weather-tested, single tree.

No network roots to brace my form,

just quiet strength in every storm;

yet still my shadow, small and true,

offers rest for a chosen few.

I am a happy tree at last,

not by mere chance or seasons passed,

but through transplanting’s patient art

and pruning that revived my heart.

— Jesse Lee

11/30/2025