The blossoming tree

From seed to cotyledon,
New shoots were abundant.
Though fleeting and blurry,
Those times weren't misspent.

Then as the leaves grew,
Some more to name but few,
From shrub to shrub, and bud to bud,
Those times were well spent, too.

Well spent were those lush, lower leaves,
But shed each year with bitter breeze.
And with each breeze, those leaves, those leaves,
Would vanish to never re-appear.

But with each autumn's solemn fall,
This plant grew strong, robust and tall.
These leaves he shed, but kept his head,
This tree stood sure among them all.

And as this tree did climb and climb,
Those buds sprang freely, time after time.
But with the breeze, those fickle leaves,
Were but a gust away from the vine.

As branches swayed, in wind and rain,
Harder, still, they were to tame,
But longer splayed were the ones that stayed,
And swayed, in wind and rain.

This tree, in pain, could never blossom,
The winters mild, the summers sodden.
But still those leaves would sprout each turn,
To yearn for the next and not forgotten.

And now, so proud, this statue stands,
And boasts a sturdy structure sound.
Around the wood his widespread hands
Abound with the twitter of avian bands.

At last this behemoth can thrive,
Every branch flushed red with life.
Each Spring each bud springs into sight,
For a tree so happy, so lush, so bright.