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The tree stands, where it always did, a reminder that life is.   The tree bares the scars of storms and pests and the ravages of time, and it is split.   And the split hurts.  

The tree stands,

where it always did,

a reminder that life

is.

 

The tree once bore fruit.

Leaves and beauty

were some of its gifts.

The tree was ours.

 

The tree marks 

where and what we were

what we are

to each other.

 

The tree bares the scars

of storms and pests

and the ravages of time,

and it is split.

 

And the split hurts.

 

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