The Elm tree is Dead

When I was young the tree provided shelter when it rained,

kept me cool in the summer sun.

Tall and handsome, each year I could rely on the tree to

be there for me.

 

Soaring, protective, he lured me towards him,

and the other elm trees.

To stay with them, living every day in confidence

to base my life around loving branches.

 

Then the disease came, gradual at first.

A change of color, attitude, leaves not as bright,

then eventually nothing.

No leaves for cover, from the sun or the rain,

Kindling for branches, would break if I slipped.

 

Alone, I am wet, when it rains.

cold when it snows.

Hot in the summer’s sun.

Yet you are still there. Planted but now inert.

 

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