Once upon my August walk <br />When I hadn’t one soul to talk <br />I met a tree dying young <br />With leaves like leather in the sun <br />Hung below their branch like bats <br />Waiting for the wind to come <br />-Quite patiently, at that. <br /> <br />This scene shook my happiness <br />Along with any interest <br />In a stroll that dry morning <br />(The thought kept re-occurring) <br />“My main fear is this tree’s own <br />She died without a warning <br />And never got show her gold.”<br /><br />Lazarus Knix<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-tree-dying-young/
