The Tree (Poem)

On a bench, sitting silently, I saw a tree,

A beautiful beast it was, upright in all its glory.

Home to a plethora of birds, to their children and nests,

They chanted praises of him all day; after all, he was the best.

A few months passed by, autumn had graced the Earth now,

While taking a stroll, my eyes again caught that tree somehow.

However, the birds were just two, instead of many,

There had been a certain sparkle in the tree before, now there wasn’t any.

So insipid was its state, I was left sheerly stunned,

But who could blame the birds? After all, they had found a better one.

As the winters were approaching, I took a glance yet again.

Relieved, I saw that he wasn’t anymore in pain.

His plaintive cries were heard by nature, without any words,

The tables had turned around; for he had been found by a better flock of birds.

In the dingy darkness, his branches were a home to their nap,

In the gloom of the frost, his stupendous glow was back.

Soon after, there came a thunder so destructive, so ruthless,

His branches fell sick, his leaves in a cataclysmic mess.

And now he was ostracized by all of them, his glow was hanging loose,

But who could blame the birds? After all, he was now of no use.

I gave him one last languid look, as I was walking out the gate,

His roots gave a hint of resignation, as if he had simply accepted his fate.