The Buzzard Tree Poem by Sidi Mahtrow

The buzzard tree stands forlorn
Of leaves and small branches shorn
Crafted by nature, stark and bare
With no life here to share
Draped in moss through which the wind blows free
Stirring as though life's in this tree
Branches twisted and broken fingers reaching
Grasping
Once a mighty oak, long departed
By nature haunted
Casting off bark and limbs
Until only there are maggots within
Feasting on the pulp of yesteryear
Gnawing away the last substance dear
Until in a final act of the Almighty
The tree comes down with a crash.

Does anybody hear or even care?

(At the base of the tree, a nest of snow-white buzzard chicks wait for their time in the sun.)

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