for some time
you are proud, *****
the fresh buds thrive upwards
swaying gaily
to the touch of winds.
then, the season is over.
a saw tears through every vein
the whole of your graceful height-
collapsing down.
gray beauty, lifeless, dead soft
takes over the green past.
there you see, what you didn't see!
you are a born wood
or born to be a wood!
it's go her way time-then
life is the carpenter
holding the saw and the hammer.
she makes you ears...
eyes, nose and even color!
now and then reshapes you
to her taste and desire.
bit by bit, you dissolve into saw dust
every time getting smaller
until you finally disappear!
Yonas Mengisteab