The Tree
The tree is not any special one
Broken fingers stronger than its branches
Disposed and long done
Sitting in the grasses
Its trunk is like a spine
A spine without support
The tree is as thin as vine
A vine that looks to fall short
In the cinders of the fallen
The tree lays in darkness
Covered by the ashen
Stemmed in the harshness
This is tree is simply a tree
Laying the dark dead sea
