The Stone Tree
I came across a tree,
at its peak stature and resplendency.
Grandfatherly wrinkles in its wooded cheeks,
and endless resistance to wood-pecking beaks,
Sturdy and solid, there was no storm around,
That could uproot that tree and not bring with it ground.
So you can imagine that with all my respect,
the death of the tree was quite hard to accept.
It’s disconcerting to me,
when I see it lacking it’s verve
To bury this tree,
when it’s joy was to serve.
The body is a glove
For the hand to fill
And without the tree’s spirit
it’s eerily still.
I ache for all your beauty,
and the plumerias in my hair,
They were always your very favorite and
you laughed when boys would stare.
I’m sorry you're no longer here,
and that you did not get a say,
But most of all I’m sorry
That I buried you today.