The tree

The towering tree was sick
It’s branches brittle and leaves turned yellow
It’s spirit like a trembling wick
It’s roots so weak in the soil turned shallow.

The gnawing termites kept on and on
The dark thick trunk was a gaping hollow
The grass around and the homing birds
Sat with drooping heads and mood so mellow

Half asleep and half awake
The tree swayed laboriously and so slow
The sap still seeped through memories
In the hushed hours of twilight glow.

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