The Sapling's Efface

The story of a young tree's first Autumn


 Look at the world give away......

What once was indispensable now buckles under the sly sting of sorrow’s kiss.

When the earth leapt with joyous noise,

A Vibrant life,

Now all fades,

Fades to death,

To grey,

Forever.

Once we stood lush and proud!

With a chorus of exaltation, such strength!

My friends would leap with life and potent breath.

The burdened ground would make way to their presents,

The grasses formed a necklace of delicate price amidst their base.

Green glory, faded to white, Death’s slumber.

But no

No more

The wind pulls and pushes my family, but they do not respond

As if hypnotized but the river’s sloppy beats,

The constant drumming against the frigid rocks.

For the river is still loved, her skin richly reflects the sky,

My heart, now dying, sees her, which strikes a jealous chord.

Why should she so comfortably flow, so alive.

As I waste away?

I stand alone

The last of my kind

I force myself to reach up a lonely hand, a child's cry for help.

I shout out to the sky, but only the wind meets me.

Not to flirt, but to tease:

“Look at how the others reach their hands out little Sapling. Soon you too will be stripped of your leaves, and dignity. Alas, for now you stand alone while the river plays her silly games.”

Such truth

While my world,

Fades away, The River sings.

Now the bards of gossips poison combined with my own despair stick to my mind.

What if I chose to blur these thoughts? Would I still die nonetheless?

Or would I awaken to a light of new beginnings,

Not just for my body, but my soul as well?

Although so young, I strive to have an unstained mind,

Something pure,

Something once mine.

Yes! I choose instead to be brave!

Dear River forgive my jealous thoughts.

I am but afraid.

I take comfort that in my last moments you are here with me.

Your friend,

A sapling, on a hill.

My thoughts are becoming heavy and hazed,

But I am no longer scared.

My soul is at peace.

I listen to the thumping water that my friend The River plays for me,

Not a tease, but a lullaby.

I should have known it all along.

She sings to me as a loving mother would.

As my last leaves fall beneath my reach,

I strain to see Mama River as I proudly wave

Goodbye. 

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The Sapling's Efface