Tree Poems: 12/25
Nature, Tree

Dying Tree

© Rebecca D. Gustavson

An old tree is compared to an old man.

I am an old man and I am dying.
I sit as if I've been forgotten.
I call out to the mountains, but they do not answer.
It is silent; you can hear the crack of my bones.
The bright sun breaks and murders my branches leaving me bare.
It has been hundreds of years since I've been looked at.
I try to grow, but I'm drowned by the sun and my efforts are useless.
I have cuts on my side, and my arms are separated.
Campers come and cut me, chopping my heart apart.
Birds avoid me as if I'm poison.
The young green ones around me laugh and play all day.
I am there, but to them, I am invisible.
I am free, but I cannot move.
I scream, I shout, I reach to the stars, but still,
No one notices.
I am an old man and I am dying.

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