My soul rests within your twisted knots,
Warren and bear from storm and play.
Each stroke of your bark holds separate memories,
We pass you by without second thought.
Once you were attached to some grand tree,
Where your roots stretched and strained in the soil.
Past lives have been kept within your core.
Delicate and old, young and strong.
You have supported a bird.
Perhaps watched one grow.
You're there when we need you.
We can't thank you enough.
Your beauty speaks wonders.
Your intricacy symbolic.
You hold bumps and scratches like all of us do.
Yet now you are fallen.
Still beautiful while old.
And you lay in the ground, unused and cold.