I had forgotten what it looked like,
the death of a tree. Somehow
it all came back to me-

the empty hilltop holding it alone,
denuded of its bark. Somewhere
inside its core, the tree lived

the forgetfulness of death. Perhaps
it was the beetles and the grubs
that did it- although I doubt

the old boy ever knew what hit it.
High upon its former crown,
where freshened leaves once had grown,

grew a jagged slash that lightning
tore asunder. I'm sure the limbs
defied the angry thunder, while

creepers hugged the trunk and limbs together.
Above, the surly buzzards glided by,
wrapped up in a most indifferent sky.