Whispers of the last tree

In a quiet grove, where shadows lie,

One tree stands, reaching to the sky.

Once a forest, now just one,

Where wind still whispers what’s begun.

Its leaves like lace, they softly sway,

Stretching for rain that fades away.

A forest gone by human hand,

This tree remains, a final stand.

Its bark tells tales of streams now dry,

Of fields where life would once pass by.

Now only echoes fill the air

Of what was lost, what’s no longer there.

Yet storms still rage, the skies turn grey,

And time erodes what can’t be repaid.

Its shadow remain, frail and thin,

A fading hope, where life begins.

In every leaf, a plea, a cry,

"Don’t let the world just watch me die."

Yet still it stands strong and tall,

The last tree standing, after all.