Where do trees go when they die?
An eternal question for one such as I.
I think upon it now and then.
My story starts and ends again.
Witness me, a solemn tree.
Standing silent. Lonely as can be.
I am nothing but some branches,
and only the light accompanies me.
Memories. My arms once swayed,
now the breeze has gone elsewhere,
leaving me homeless and hopeless...
a wooden monolith, alone against the sun.
I am not a pretender. Not a foolish sprig,
hoping to gain favour in my boles
or aiming to spread my roots evilly,
into fields of green. Under walls so clean.
I am a tree. A lonely giant, nestling here.
Nobody climbs my body anymore.
Not a single one sits under my hearth,
allowing me to see a soul reborn.
Witness me, an ancient tree.
I rest here in solidarity.
I cannot move, to walk the plains.
So this is where I'll end my days.
My leaves will rot, and fall too soon,
and slowly my bark will go grey.
My inner sap will soon go dry.
And so I ask again this question:
Where do trees go, when they die?
©spilvenr
S