There stands a dying tree,
Tormented by the wind,
Broken by the storms,
Cracked by the sun.

Its once-lush cover
Rests brown on the ground.
Its once-steel arms of youth
Turned upward, praising light
Now, a broken skeleton
Churned by hungry termites.

The gray castle made of sand.
Under the arbor, it used to stand
Until water cleansed the earth
Almost nothing it was worth.

So alone stands the tree
Birds stopped singing so long ago
Shedding its final leaves in autumn
I thought Age & Wear had caught him.

And even though it seemed
All was through,
The tree continued.
I dug down deep to
Find the answer
There were the roots:
Strong and true.

Copyright: 1998 Michael P.