Blowing wild is the wind
trees bending to and fro
grass dancing one last time
before the frost and snow.
The birds are dizzy up aloft
sitting, thinking what to do
squirrels out collecting nuts
busy just like me and you.
A tree is breaking it is time
to kiss the ground and lie
her stump is rotten to the core
It is her time to die.
As she stretches out her trunk
like an old lady in her bed
she’s grateful of her full life
it’s time to rest her weary head.
Birds have nested in her bows
squirrels in her trunk so free
she gave birth to leaves and fruit
she fulfilled he duty as a tree.
© D Marsden 2016
Dave's blog 