Dendrochronology

But Jesus Christ! It had a few years on it.

By the time it was thirty,

It had appeared more fragile.

Like there was something

Lying inside its hollow heart.

So I spent my days carefully looking after it,

And I watched as a beard turned grey,

With tattoos etched in its hard shell,

Something no more sons can save.

Something it won’t let in.

But when the lumbers came

To cut you down,

I protested and held my ground.

I argued that you’re still needed,

That someone wants you here.

But I wasn’t done with my studies

I just said it all to them

So I can have just one more day.

Why’d I try to care for something

As wooden as you.

You never spoke much,

Not much it can do.

There can’t be that much poison

Lingering in those roots.

But the birds they still find shelter

In that nest that was never theirs.

And it never came to my rescue

With its branches warm embrace.

If you give me back the time I spent

Then maybe I’d move on.

But there isn’t much else words can say

Except for why I had tried at all.