A Mahogany Poem by Quasi Azuaqi

Come, let me tell you a story
One of woe of a mahogany
It was born alone in a dying wood
Through rain, heat, and flying soot
Stayed one alone for a century
Begging high and low to fill its belly

And there it grew, strong and firm
Brave and unbattered by the world's cruel turns
And slowly and slowly its love grew
And fell in the form of morning dew
Of colourful hazes and twisted dens
Of contrasting networks and the occasional men

We followed the Great One's way
As we emerged, saw its ray
Flew straight up into the clouds
Went crashing through the ground

Our home became a dream
A being with tissues of green
Cells of chitters and slithers
Vessels of silver-blue glitter

Until a storm came
Fire, heat, and no way
To escape now, we hung on
As it breezed through us all
None remained, not a single bee
And so is the tale of a mahogany
Whose life flew by as though never been
Seemingly influencing none in the end