The lonely tree stands still. In young summers,
I'd run along its massive roots and hang
Beneath it's sturdy branches. Flowers bloomed
Amidst its shaded base. It's undergrowth
Could house our lives; its branches still could hold
Any heaven we could imagine.
And now, those heavens crumble 'neath my feet.
Those desiccated branches fixed to fall
Are sore subject for childish wonderment.
My ashen dreams blow silent in the wind.
My tears cannot rejuvenate the soil,
Nor tempt my yggdrasil to live again.
