From my window,
I can see a sycamore is dying, 
limp branches bereft of leaf and bud,
can’t hide the pallor of the trunk - 
                    a doomed fading grey, 
with sickly green blotches, 
as the lichen’s fate intertwines
with the withering tree.
Soon, wailing saws will end the pain, 
settling buried roots - 
	           to their final sleep.

Thanks for reading Natural Causes. Did the words resonate with you?

I have a few poems lined up to be released over the next few weeks, so keep your eyes peeled for those.

Take it Easy

Paul