A Withered Life Poem by Robert Edgar Burns

The seasons of Life as told
from the point of view of a tree.

Once I stood so tall and true,
Life pulsing through winds and dew.
Lightning scars would drain my sap,
But I stood firm within my gap.

Many creatures scaled my bark.
Nests were made by flying Lark.
Often there I’d find cocoons,
Then watch as butterflies left these rooms.

Every branch was full of shoots,
That led to juicy, tasty fruit.
So very many did seek my shade
Against my base, some sat, some layed.

Long decades stole away my strength.
My branches withered, my fruit extinct.
Drink no longer fills my shoots,
Now all I own is rotted roots.

A fire place awaits me soon,
Where I’ll give warmth in childrens rooms.
No tears need ever be shed for me,
I’ll rise again from my fallen seeds.