My Tree

My tree looks a little sad.

She stands alone; high and mighty,

at the top of the hill.

Her roots seem to have a strong liking for the hill,

And they’ve chosen to mark her territory across it.

You can see the pride sometimes in her stance,

Especially when the wind whizzes by.

But now,

My tree looks a little sad.

Her leaves seem too hungry and parched to hold on.

Her branch is too tired to sway.

Even the magical whispers she used to make are no more.

Sitting under my tree,

Looking up to the moonlight

And the twinkles in the sky,

Used to be a remedy, a kind of therapy.

But now,

It seems as though even she needs a ray of sun.

There used to be benches.

There used to be laughter.

A little, or maybe more, drink.

Foundations of promises.

Bonding of friendships.

They all happened here,

Under my tree.

But now,

The only sounds to be heard

Are from the crickets and the insects

That only live in the wild.

No one to keep her company.