the tall tree,
that once stood so firm,
so proud of its strength,
it is flung down,
next to my eyes,
in front of me,
it's wreathed old roots,
that once used to be,
strong enough to hold him,
are now feeble as they could be,
it's brown leaves,
with a touch of orange hue,
with blend of yellow,
are the ones,
that once were so green and lush,
it's branches that once,
were a home to a thousand blue birds,
are no more mothers,
they now are strile,
idea gleam on the curtain of my mind,
with the tree that once was ceaselessly young,
is now dead,
what are we proud of?????
