THE DYING TREE
Alone on a hill,
the once majestic beauty.
Stands alone reaching for the sky.
It's once blusterous bounty,
of leaves,
weighing on each strong limb.
Slowly,
as one year turns to the next,
Each leaf in turn grows weary with age.
Forsaking the mother of it's birth.
After too many seasons to count,
there is no more fight.
Now only the darkened dying skin remains.
Brittle to the touch.
The tree tires of the cold winter seasons.
as it shudders alone on this quiet hill.
The fight to live has ended,
but no one realizes it's pain.
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.