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Those dramatic limbs that stab the sky,
stand like a sentinal.
An
army general,
I gaze
upon the majesty,
displaying
more than temporal.
The
softness of the leaves
has
gone,
thrust into the air,
erect and bare,
stark,
alone,
vulnerable,
naked,
so
we stare.
In that stateliness
I
discover,
within a hollow,
a
home to borrow,
and
to keep.
That
tree
is
there to nurture,
it
is not
full of sorrow.
Some
things in life,
may
appear wasted,
Just
cast aside,
And
left to die.
With
no more usefulness.
Ah,
what special worth,
they deeply hide.
 
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