Cruel winds...Fallen Bough.

Dark the clouds

to curse the skies

they rend the sun with

veiled disguise...

 

A cry of boughs sore 

ripped by fate,

their tortured leaves

wild whipped,

prostrate.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

The tree is feeling much better now, the wound is healing, but the the fallen bough still lies at its feet, seems a bit cruel to just leave it there. I know this sounds silly, but the tree is very close to my house, I have known it for a long time and I care about it.

View sweetwater's Full Portfolio