Mourning Wood

A Poem by Gaia Octavia

She met her paramour
underneath the sycamore
whose smooth mottled bark
would tend her hand
as she waited in the dark
for her secret man

So when nighttime fell
and the waiting was hell
the sycamore bent
and wound its limb
'round the girl who spent
her life waiting for him

Now as it goes
with trysts such as those
the boy's passion dispelled
so he stopped coming by
and a curl of bark fell
for every tear she would cry

It took some years
to dry her tears
and return to the spot in
which she used to wait
for the man - now forgotten -
who had always been late

At first she didn't know
why she'd wanted to go
back to the place
where her heart and hope froze
'till she spied a mossy base
which now laid exposed

What was left of her friend
who used to ascend
to dance in the wind
(even though it was old)
after all of her sins
which it never had told

So she sat on its stump
as her throat formed a lump
feeling shame to her core
for letting it fall
since it'd been the sycamore
she had loved most of all