The Tree

I often wonder,

about the sound of a falling tree.

The sound; like thunder,

after the creaking screech.

It knows, the tree, it knows.

That after life there is death,

for that is how nature goes:

there will be a final breath.

Do the other trees hear it?

Their fallen friend’s demise.

Oh, how they must dread it,

to hear the sickening cries.

The trees do not fear the end,

for they live on,

in the soul of a friend.

This way, the life, the tree, it goes on.

And on.

- EMJ