Falling like rain,
The once so blossoming trees are shedding.
I wonder if the tree feels the pain,
If it feels pain like a beheading.
~
The tree is naked and bare,
But it's so out there.
Does it feel ashamed?
Or perhaps it feels inflamed.
~
I look at that tree with empathy.
That tree that is dying unwillingly.
That same tree has at least one memory,
I hope it's not as chillingly.
~
As chillingly as death,
Though it has not one breath.
Its memories of feeling anything,
Can still outweigh death if it's refreshing like dayspring.
~
Do I have a memory that feels as brisk?
Do I have any sense of risk?
Can I be like that tree was?
Can I be like that just because?
