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talking to myself

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As is true

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As is true

The limb rested upon the grass,

Gleaned by the fierce winds

Bark shredded,

Skinned from the limb.

Now the time had come

It’s part coming to an end,

Dried up long dead,

Returning to the earth,

Its mother from whence it came,

As is true of all living things.

What was once beautiful,

Alive, covered in green,

Robed in different shades,

Light and dark,

From jade to aqua,

The covering now long gone,

Brittle dust is all that is left.

Seasons came in fast succession,

Its last finally arrived,

It fell,

Now lies,

Waiting for total union,

To be absorbed,

Food for what comes in future seasons.

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