There was a tree upon a hill
By storm or sun, it had been killed
It had neither fruit nor flower nor leaf to see
It was as sad as a tree could be
I asked a friend whose thumb was green
What sort of tree this husk had been
She replied that she'd seen it once
In the light of springtime sun
Its mane was soft as candy floss
A cherry tree, she thought it was
I asked around and came to know
that it really had been so
More that that, it had been a beauty
It was said to have been the home of fairies
But all I could see was a leaning corpse
Its branches stiff as bleached mops
It made me sad to see it the way it was
it felt like I'd suffered a personal loss
I said, Oh withered cherry tree
Will you not bloom for me?
YOU ARE READING
PerceptioN
PoetryNo despair. No depression. Some fun. Some PerceptioN. A collection of a few little products of my boredom. My best work is in the later chapters. ... Highest rank - #169 in poetry - 5/5/16
