Among the golden tipped, rippling, emerald waves of grass, one can see,
An old, twisted, gnarled and hollowed, solitary tree.
Splintered and broken, it grows no more,
limbs and bark remain on the surrounding floor.
Thin, gyrating , and pleading branches reach out,
towards the sapphire sky, as whipped cream clouds drift about.
Gray and black, the wood, dry, crumbling, and rough to the touch,
It’s been that way for quite some time now, as no one goes there much.
It’s striking appearance implies a message of lost strength being sent out.
If it remains, is unknown to me, but it is remembered with out a doubt.
Not sure why this tree has made an imprint on my memory,
yet, I can still feel the wind as I gazed upon it, in that vast emerald sea.
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Comments2
erm so... this poem is just awesome!
thank you, what a treat
Thank you! I'm glad you liked it.
Great poem .. you make me feel sorry for the tree .. tho that’s sad . Trees are nice , and are important too you have given that tree feelings
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