The Plum Tree

There was an old plum tree that’s leaves turned red,
And shrivelled and fell before they said,
“Autumn is nice but us leaves fall too soon, 
We fall in a circle like the big beautiful moon.”
In winter the plum tree was disheveled and bare,
Caught up in winter’s cold nasty snare.
The big strong branches looked gnarled and broken,
And they moved quite sluggishly, it looked only half woken.
In spring it hated all the hard work
Of making the buds so the bees would perk.
But the effort was worth it, the buds would make plums,
If only the tree could eat them, with taste buds and gums.
In summer it laboured all through the heat
To make tasty plums that we can eat.
But at the end of the season, it let out a sigh,
All through the year it felt it had been on a sugar high.