Poetry that I made for some reason

Rotten

The great tree is rotten, old, weak,the roots aren't gripping the ground like they used to, they are weak, the wispy leaves are slowly falling, leaving it bare, the branches break in the wind, the rain dampens the soil, leaving it weak, the tree cries out a creak as it falls, snaps and breaks, but no one will hear the tree, they don't know when it fell, how it fell, or even why it fell, they will come across to a fallen rotten tree, it may be a host for new life but it never will be that tree, the rings in the tree representing years of memories never to be remembered or even heard, for now the tree is waiting for the new life to grow upon the tree, but the wet leaves will weight down the plants from growing as great as the tree once stood, smaller, weaker, softer, for now the great tree is no longer, and leaves behind the small wispy tree trying to stay up in the harsh wind it once could withstand, but even if it grows to be as great, at the core it is still that small, defenceless tree, easy to snap, easy to break.