The Tree Has Not Fallen Poem by Emmanuel Ayeni

Patient moon, the old tree stands,
bare as a truth the dark cannot conceal;
its branches, once fluent with leaves, now hold
only the weight of seasons
that forgot how to heal.

A solitary bird keeps vigil there,
silent beneath the silver eye;
it has forgotten the grammar of song,
yet watches the horizon
as though dawn still owes the sky.

Deep in the earth, the roots keep their counsel,
remembering rain, remembering flame;
above, the branches surrender to the wind,
while something green, unnamed and stubborn,
still refuses the grave.

So let the night lengthen across the land.
Let the moon reveal what shadows hide.
The tree has not fallen. The roots still hold.
And somewhere beyond the rim of darkness,
morning gathers on the other side.