A Tree Dying Young. Poem by Lazarus Knix

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.”