I'm like my tree

I'm like my tree
Waiting around
For a sunny day
That might not come,
Dropping leaves
That no longer
Hold their color,
Conserving energy
For a cold, dark winter,
Reminding myself
That Spring will come,
When comes the man
With sharp metal hands
Who grips me roughly
Snips my branches
Expecting me to heal.
Sadness takes over
Like the Nothing;
Where is my Spring?

PS: Harlan is not the "man".