The Old Broken Limb Poem by Gulliver Gimble

The old broken limb up high in the oak,
listened as leaf's whispered and spoke.
Pointing their branches and poking fun,
at the broken limb and the years it has hung.
But the broken limb wasn't broken at all,
it only seemed this way from summer to fall.
No leaves of green that shine in the sun,
or blazing fall colors after summer is done.
When winter comes they all look the same,
except for the broken limb that still barely hangs.
You wouldn't even noticed until you looked close,
that one limb was misplaced and not like most.
No leaf's could laugh from the branches that sway,
for they all look the same on this winters day.
I have watched this broken limb for years,
waiting for it to fall and hear the other leaf's cheer.
An unsightly feature they all seemed to agree,
that this broken limb was not ment for a tree.
When spring finally came to awaken the land,
all the branches began budding a sight so grand.
The leaf's were coming the broken limb did know,
another season of laughing as the leaf's will grow.
But something amazing caught my eye's,
a beautiful sight were the broken limb try's.
A new limb was growing from the tatered break,
were the old limb had snapped years to the date.
Slowly it grew and grew some more,
one leaf, two leaf's, three and then four.
Once just a chaffed and broken old limb,
now showing new life as summer begins.
The old broken limb finally fell to the ground,
as the new lush growth hushed all of the sounds.
The sounds of laughter and whispers aside,
a new limb is born were the other had cried.
Still the same limb as once before,
from the same stock, from the same core.
And so the new limb took awhile to grow,
it something to marvel and something to show.
It became the biggest limb of them all,
and was just like the others from spring until fall.