In years long past, a sapling small,
Nurtured by hands in cloth so white,
They cared for me, both one and all,
To grow strong, my roots took flight.
But as I reached my adult grace,
Their presence faded day by day,
Yet in the stillness of this place,
I yearned for them, so far away.
In time, new folks did claim my home,
Yet Their quarrels marred the peaceful land,
Their greed and strife, like tempests, roamed,
Till driven out by a stronger hand.
One survivor sought refuge near,
Beneath my weathered, mellowed bark,
Was a short-lived respite, free of fear,
Amidst my figure, stiff and sharp.
Yet battle cries hung in the air,
The remained fled, breathless, in haste and dread,
Until an arrow struck, a heart laid bare,
At my roots, the fallen lay dead.
The wars’ aftermath, a bitter fate,
My fellow trees and I laid low,
As stumps, we bore a heavy weight,
In silence, we watched life’s ebb and flow.
Children’s laughter, echoes sweet,
Around my base, where friendships bloom,
Yet, I can’t hear, can’t see, can’t greet,
Only bear their weight in this silent gloom.
