Dawn & Dusk

A lament

Cold are the stars
As the bitter winds whip
A lone tree on a moor
By darkness, stripped

Ravaged by a storm
Of its own making
Its twisted roots snap
Cracked by the shaking

Eerie sounds echo
Whenever the wind eases
Luminous insects gather
Bringing a host of diseases

Its end is near
It can feel it creeping
Like scaly moss on its trunk
Pungent fluids seeping

It planted itself
On its own in this moor
It chose its own footing
Of glory, was sure

But away from the forest
The tree has been exposed
Its branches creaking
As the wind ever blows

And so when it falls
It will make no sound
As its hollow trunk splits
Into fragments all around