Simple Cycle:

The dead and
Leafless tree insists on trying to shelter me
From the rain,
And I'm tired of it succeeding,
Because I know why it creeps along.

The dead and
Leafless tree sways and creaks within the breath
Of a gentle autumn sigh,
And I lay on the cold grey earth,
Staring up at these dry grey clouds,
Wondering who is trying too hard.

I can feel it's roots tickle my back as it urges me to stand.
I do so, and it sighs with a low groan.
I'm drawn to it, but never happy to do so.

It's bark pulses with love.
I'm ashamed,
But I clasp my hands together in prayer and nuzzle my head firmly into the tree's side.

Death comes sweetly of course,
But all the time I had spent with that tree
Seemed to be sapping something from me,
And although the tree couldn't seem to sustain itself,
In the end, I did my part, and now that the tree has died,
I realized just what it needed.

But alas, I was too late to learn to leave.
My death was all in the name of a book made from her wood.