Scabbed and ugly...coarse and raw
Unattractive...even in Fall
A tree so dead, so sore and mute
Diseased from top, thru trunk and root
Where foliage bursting rich with green
Once gave out shelter, shade, and peace...
Where odors rich with summer's sweet
Did rain on lovers down beneath...
Now stands the stalk of chaff, of death
A grave of winter's chilly breath...
Now reeks the stench of lifeless pulp
A finger of earth...free of pulse.
And here in winter...dead, not free
I am a man...I am the tree.
