The fallen tree lies still <br />Amongst the hush of autumn morn, <br />And dwells within a weeded tomb <br />Upon an amber bed, <br />The silence stirred from slumber <br />Crunching leaves beneath my feet, <br />When once they flickered in the breeze <br />They never shall again. <br /> <br />The fallen tree lies still <br />Amongst the nettles that remain, <br />And cloaked within an olive shawl <br />That cannot keep it warm, <br />For wrapped in moss that stains the bark <br />Upon its brittle trunk, <br />So soft like down unto my hand <br />Yet dampened by the dew. <br /> <br />The fallen tree lies still <br />Amongst the mass of broken twigs, <br />As beams descend through branches bare <br />Upon the woodland floor, <br />To light the wilting bracken <br />On the long and winding path, <br />As I walk by it gently waves <br />And bids a last farewell.<br /><br />ANDREW BLAKEMORE<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-fallen-tree/
