Alone on the grassy plain my roots run deep into the moist cold earth yet the water no longer brings life. My branches bear no leaves for shade and the color of life has left me. Dark an ominous my shell remains. I am leaned on and used for support but no one stays for the beauty has gone. One day the fire will consume my dry coarse shell and the winds will scatter my ashes along the plain and the memory of all that i've done will fade away. Forgotten like the fog that was pushed away by the suns vibrant light. One day I will be no more for I was nothing to begin with. I was only "that tree", never "thee tree". 

By Matthew branton