She clings to the dead tree.
It’s not that attractive.
As anyone can see,
She’s just trying to live
Attached to something that
Won’t grow, a leaf, a stock,
Or anything with life.
She clings, she holds, she grabs,
It might as well be rock,
Dead as her hope inside.
She touches the branches,
She smells and softly exhales
It’s time to let go, chances
Are it’s dead, or not well.
Leaves bud the next day.
She can’t see.
She’s gone away.
