Who will mourn

Her crooked branches pierced the sunlit skies

Shrouded by a cloth of green

Belied the menace decaying within

Squirrels lazed around expecting protection

Offspring through the ages begat within her arms

Young roots well intentioned, intertwined

Twisted, turned, enlarged for everlasting strength

Each year accrued wealth, beauty, longevity

A force for goodness admired by all

Once matured, magnificent thought immutable

Seasons changed and gloried each year reborn

And then with stealth a mighty force

An emboldened wind did break her spine

This once grand ole dame did fall

When did deceit become a part of her fabric

To break from truth, let rot set in

Who knew what lay behind that hardened skin

Who took the time to question reality

And who will stay behind to mourn

As others blithely move away, unconcerned.