A tree dying young.
Once upon my August walk
When I hadn’t one soul to talk
I met a tree dying young
With leaves like leather in the sun
Hung below their branch like bats
Waiting for the wind to come
-Quite patiently, at that.
This scene shook my happiness
Along with any interest
In a stroll that dry morning
(The thought kept re-occurring)
“My main fear is this tree’s own
She died without a warning
And never got show her gold.”
poem by Lazarus Knix
Added by Poetry Lover
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