Old Bent Tree

Old Dead TreeOld bent tree

Creaking in the breeze

No longer the tower

That hovers over the lesser shrubs;

Your branches were stripped away

When last the storms razed through

And your sap has become

A thickened sludge

Your seed cast out much too long ago….

Now you stand here

Dreading another brown season

Agonizing over the sounds

Of the field mice

Gnawing incessantly at your roots