The Bottle Tree Slayer

Standing stagnant, serenely in the sky,

Like a bottle of burgundy french wine,

Left unopened for decades,

To mature over time. 

Narrow leaves swaying delicately in the wind,

United as one like a soothing lullaby.

Each branch individually protruding,

The rough trunk helps clean up the pigsty.

Shattered glass from broken wine bottles,

Ripping wide holes in the ozone layer,

The seared stumps of bottle trees were the only thing left,

From the bottle tree slayer.