The Tree in My Yard

The Tree in My Yard

There was a tree in my yard dead on the inside but you couldn’t tell.

It stood tall, like it had something to prove— like it remembered how.

Its branches still reached out. It still held nests, still gave shelter, still danced when the wind passed through.

The leaves were green. The bark unbroken.

But inside, quiet rot. The kind that starts small, then takes everything slowly.

No one knew until someone opened it up.

And by then, it had carried more life than anyone realized— even in the middle of dying.

But it was too late. The tree was dead. A ghost of its former self, and it will never be the same no matter how hard it tries.