It weeps—
the sad tree
in desolation
and solitude
upon the lone summer hill
green with the dew
and perriwinkle with wild thistles
scatterd ‘neath it
It sighs—
the grey miser
in longing
bent with age
as the winds twist and turn
into whips of white ice
chilled with the screams and howls
in caustic echoes
It calls—
the solitary creature
left
with nothing else
as all has moved on
as the wind swept it away
and the sands of time ate at the Earth
alone
| 
Submission Name: The Tree
