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