The old tree drops a limb
The wet black leaves and the grey wet sky
soften the fall,
and wrap the tired flesh
in a cold warmth
and gentle whisperings.
Soon you will be
a mould,
dust,
earth
adventure.
The clean white of the break on the trunk
weeps a slow golden tear
that knew, when it was young,
the glorious limb's suppleness
and joyful dancing in the wind.