When the tree died

I cried.

It had a green mantle

 

over its branches

 

and proudly it stood in its place,

 

on the edge of the forest,

 

where I saw it every day.

 

 

Black and white bark

 

in the embrace of the sun.

 

It saw birds nesting

 

and all colors of life.

 

 

My dear tree,

 

they cut it down.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now when my tree has gone down,

 

I feel heartbroken.

 

 

I'll never see it again,

 

standing young and strong,

 

facing rain and storm.

 

 

The birds are crying,

 

spreading their wings,

 

 

'No longer can’t we settle

 

down on your branches'

 

 

My tree it died silently

 

as the wind sighing.

 

Author's Note

They cut down the tree from the yard and because of that I wrote this poem.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

The death of a tree is a sad time. Trees become part of our life. I had a large tree in my yard. Swing for Grandchildren on her. One day, a Summer thunder storm cut her in half. The tree was a part of the yard missed today. Thank you Sarah for sharing the excellent poetry.
Coyote

[~Sarah~ Idríel The Fair]

It was indeed a very sad sight, tree lying on the ground and it had branches of green leaves. Thank you for having time to read it.

[Coyote Poetry]

I agree my friend and you are welcome.