Dead Shrub

The brittle tree waits in an empty expanse,

Thin and leafless as it was left,

Under the burning rays of the sun.

The small thin roots withering away,

In the rough dead soil of this land.

Its trunk broken by the wind,

Such weak connection to its higher wings.

It sways and snaps from a light gust of wind,

Always reaching for the sky.

Its green feathers, all but gone,

Such a sad hollow sight,

Never to pick up flight.

The hollow shell, distant from life,

Destined to be alone,

To its withering day.

Hot and cold, it feels the same,

It is a lifeless snub, that feels no pain.

Such a young bright soul,

A sad sight to see,

With a completely empty family.