The fallen tree lies still
Amongst the hush of autumn morn,
And dwells within a weeded tomb
Upon an amber bed,
The silence stirred from slumber
Crunching leaves beneath my feet,
When once they flickered in the breeze
They never shall again.
The fallen tree lies still
Amongst the nettles that remain,
And cloaked within an olive shawl
That cannot keep it warm,
For wrapped in moss that stains the bark
Upon its brittle trunk,
So soft like down unto my hand
Yet dampened by the dew.
The fallen tree lies still
Amongst the mass of broken twigs,
As beams descend through branches bare
Upon the woodland floor,
To light the wilting bracken
On the long and winding path,
As I walk by it gently waves
And bids a last farewell.
ANDREW BLAKEMORE
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-fallen-tree/
