The tree stands
Withered, tattered, and dying
The holes
Made by metal acorns
As they flew to the tree
Whizzing and whirring.
The sap
Dark and thick
Drip, drip, drip, drip
It goes
Falling and falling
Then it disappears.
The trees roots upturned
By the little animal tunnels
Under the ground
As I touch the tree,
It leans, creaking
It falls.
As I come here today
The tree no longer exists
Its just a memory
Hidden beneath the ground
Ashamed of its existence
We have buried this tree deep.
1 comment:
the poor tree shouldn't be ashamed...
i'm not entirely sure of the meaning behind this, though it's probably very deep and i don't want to embarrass myself saying the wrong thing, but it has inspired me strongly. Cool.
phx
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