June 6, 2014

The Fallen Elm

In the center of a forest,
where once a meadow stood,
leans a fallen elm against an oak,
with its bark exposing wood.

It stood alone in days long past.
Tall in a field of flowering grass.
With long branches sweeping up and low,
it granted shade for life below.

But over time saplings sprung,
from seed that nature's whims had flung.
On wind and wings and fur that past,
until the seedlings grew and spread like grass.

Taller than the elm 
they blocked its light.
Allowing mold and time 
to increase in blight.

Rotting roots gave way,
in a ferocious wind.
Its fall stopped by the oak,
like an unknowing friend.

Now it awaits the day.
When it finally falls to the ground.
Yet the end is not the end,
when a elm is downed.
elm leaf

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