My heart is like an old, oak tree,
Experienced, with broken-in skin,
It remains still until it’s moved,
by a force that moves within.
Made flexible to endure seasons,
The branches praise the sky,
Uselessly bound to nature,
Hopelessly living to die.
Colors meant and bred to distract you,
With every burst of natural decline,
And it hurts me to consider,
You won’t notice my heart’s resign.
For this tree lives not to see a new year,
Nature only grants so many reprieves,
My heart can endure no longer, I fear,
In lieu, I left you, my crown of leaves.