The Innocent Tree
Stands by himself,
His only companions changing, falling, departing,
Taking the bright red exit door to the end
Left decaying into the ground beneath.
His arms sway in the passing breeze,
Reaching to the sky,
Begging for her light
Upon his leafy outstretched fingers
And to be spread across his graying, bare body,
Heating the arid soul in the center of his being.
For he has not prepared for this cold pool
Which Earth has thrown him into,
Drowning in his inability to say farewell
To his only partners of the planet.
No other trees
With whom he can share his troubles
Of the passing painful season that must be endured each year.
He hopes for that Sun to peak
From beneath those Kidnapping Clouds
And save him from the shedding of his tears, and friends
And shivering arms and heart
Which have left him,
In the corner of his desolated home.