Melancholy

Sounds like a type of tree 

It would be autumnal 

Even in the spring 

Blossoming in its own time, a bough of orphaned 

Oranges like torches in a forest scene 

Its seeds are treasures quickly taken 

By all life legged and winged 

And so, when branches frown in snow 

Or leaves fly in the breeze, 

It stares aloft and yonder hoping 

To see a tree that is not green