...that he still lives for spring

Acrylic, stain, stone dust, ash, ink, charcoal and chalk on canvas
 80x80

 Alfons Petzold (1882-1923)
 Tree in winter
 There is a tree in front of my house -
 Miserable, scraggly branches
 It rises above its trunk
 And it holds him close to life.
 In summer, the quick fist
 The lightning sawed its trunk in half,
 And storm winds that roared in autumn,
 The last of their strength was swept away.
 The other trees are standing strong
 And boldly around this cripple.
 Healthy marrow sings within them
 And makes their existence full of action.
 But when a branch trembles in the wind
 He, too, believes that his body
 That he still lives for spring,
 Like his brothers all around him.