My Maple Tree Poem by Anastasia Chernous

I have grown it tall, robust and healthful,
Never did I see no dead man hang,
From my maple tree with knowledge handful.
With the wind my maple sang,
Leaves playing music of pure joy,
Against my maple tree's bark as soft as virgin wool.

Planted with my parent's seeds,
My maple tree grew so appealing,
Never did it have tremendous needs,
Until my maple tree was centred by my angels kneeling,
All chanting heavenly sounds,
For forgiveness, failed them the prayer beads.

Soon thereafter my maple tree wept,
There were more leaves on the ground
Than the ones my head kept.
And the only white angels I had me surround,
Were the ones in white coats,
Following me wherever I stepped.

And the sugary syrup my maple tree once made,
Is now dry, harsh and bitter
So alone in the unit I laid.
My maple tree's roots thought that it was a quitter,
And cut off it's life supply,
Now my life for is paid.

Standing bare, cold and haunting,
My maple tree's branches now carry no weight,
Only the devils words below me, taunting.
It's hard to believe there's someone deeper than my buried crate,
Who curses all who try to help,
Leaving my maple tree just hoping and wanting.

This was all long ago
When my maple tree stood next to children, my own,
Now it will no longer grow,
I still miss everyone I've ever known,
And now I as an angel will pray
For my children's maple trees growing in the meadow.