Leaves would descend as her journey perished.
Should not leaves fall in Autumn?
It was only June,
the oak next to me still holding its abundant shape.
Chlorophyll drained like an open wound.
I began to weaken.
A soul so youthful…now gone.
Branches remained bleak,
for weeks they could not revive me,
even an ocean would not suffice.
As the sun shimmered over the knoll that enchanted morning,
men unearthed the dull prairie beneath me.
Her delicate frame tickled my once thirsty roots.
Feeling the force to prevail dejection,
a soul was provoking my survival.
Discovering an urgency to live,
the cold gravestone giving me a pulse.
Casting her a shade,
providing protection from the burning solar.
I can live for her.
A towering Oak tree has been resurrected
by a once youthful soul…now gone.
You need to be logged in to comment