brown dots of decay has started to show
my gnarled branches sway slowly
you can see the cracks in me
I can't hear the beatific sounds
of wind. I think of how I chimed
to its hmm. it only makes me sad;
tears slowly fall from my eyes.
music of the soil is holding me now
I like the wetness of rain as never before
rooted I stand, the wood roughened
yet I have hope that keeps me alive
new shoots will come off me,
I will again go green, leaves clinging
to me like limpets, greyness forgotten.
"running away was never a hallmark of a tree, why should I let it be now?"