A Short Book of Poetry

The Old Tree

The tree

At my Great-Grandmas house

Tall and proud

But so fragile and old

Holds the old sprint

Within its hard trunk

With a seat made just for me

On its weak limbs

I write

But it is old

The bark ripping off

No more leaves growing now

Branches

Falling off

It is bare

Cold

And lonely

The last few months are coming

I can feel it in my heart

My great-grandmas favorite tree

Is falling

Going away

As it tells me secrets

Tales of past

Of when my mother sat in the tree

My great-grandma refusing to chop it down

It's history

It's years of winters

Summers, falls

And springs

I may not be ready to

Say goodbye

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This poem is true, the tree is at my great-grandmas house and its REALLY old.

My great-grandma refused to let my great-grandpa chop it down before my mom was born

It is my moms favorite tree, and mine.

But it is dying, and this winter it might fall. :(

I can't really take it, it breaks my heart. It feels like I'm losing my great-grandma, again.