Santalum Spicatum

The tree stood abandoned and forlorn,

Left to weather; in the winds of time

With careless hands 

We pluck and plant at our own behest,

Where the tree that stood in days of old

Now serves as a memory, but told.

Devoid of dignity,

Its fate was sealed by humanity's acuity

For the seasons change in nature's embrace

And left behind the barren of our haste

Where the remains of the tree we knew

Stand tall as a testament, to what we once grew.

But as I kneel before this stump

Its roots still grip the earth's humus.

And with a little care and love,

Even in death, the tree still proffers

And thus;

A chance of growth 

A chance to renew.