We were one and the same.

Two seeds barely sprouting,

No sign of what was to come.

When a farmer came, he cut you loose.

You still stayed, though.

We grew apart but still somehow together.

Branches one atop the other reconnected us,

But the axeman came armed.

He chopped you down and left me.

Now, I'm unsure of how to grow.

I still reach for you,

But the grass overtook what was left.

Are you still out there somewhere?

Have you been burned?

Maybe someday the axeman will return.

I will wait for you until I die,

Even if the day comes in 100 years.

My branches still crave your touch.