Turning into shambles, still oozing drippy saps
The lonely pine tree is eroding with decay
Ashamed of his own weakness to portray
Slowly crippling and rotting, now collapse
Woodland creatures abandon their gaping gaps
And after a harsh winter, his side he now lay
The poise, the branches, the bark, crushed into puree
While the rest of the copse remained in hunters’ maps
The forest hadn’t appeared any less dense
Only one pine was lost, without a single leaf
See, the reduction was not immense
But the pine rested alone, uprooted in grief
Then, seventeen years forward and gone
A new sapling reached, extended, lengthy and long
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