Old Tree



Old Tree

Still standing in the old meadow by the stream
Seems like most of me has lost the breath
Though I still feel it coursing through my core
My arms are dropping, cracking
At the slightest breeze
Buds are drying up before blooming
The few that had made it to leaves
They are now shredding downward to earth.

The good old farmer that always revered me
Today is advancing with a sharp instrument
Which looks to be something aiming at me
Oh,the noise it makes stops my breath at the roots
On and on goes the sounds that painfully cut at my form.
I am becoming a stump of what I used to be
I cannot show a pretense, or facade
Since I am no more than a mere neat pile
All cut up and carried into the back of a vehicle.

Here I stand,
Alone, abandoned
My old self is now but a raw stump
My breath tries to resume its course
I must show strength and endurance
But too soon I cannot hold on anymore
Surrendering myself into the care of Mother Earth.

Hélène Vaillant ©Poetry

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