Here is some water for the dead tree,
Beauty I found in its imperfections.
A dark-haired girl appears and looks at me,
Seen in the tarnished water's reflection.

"How foolish," she scoffs, and narrows brown eyes.
"You're wasting time on this tree, it's hopeless."
I look up to the sorry, laughing sky,
Turning to her moonlit face. "I confess..."

"It's gone now, and though I shouldn't linger,
The living memory I can't betray."
She plucked a branch with delicate fingers
Carelessly dropped it, and then walked away.

Your tree creaks in empty winds. This is me,
Without you, watering a long-dead tree.