The Tree

Dark is the night; it falls

Heavy, on the branches of Hope

It quenches the flame of joy,

Mocks the long past majesty

That once filled The Tree in its passion,

And made it stand tall.


The time of blossom has gone by:

Its flowers have crumbled

And become but dust,

Unto which the falling leaves,

An echo of their former brilliance,

Spiral in a ghostly trance.


And yet – Hark! – the call of a Phoenix sounds –

A song of true beauty,

Emanating from within its soul,

As it watches the graceful dance

Of the falling leaves, now

Shedding a memory of happiness…


~ Jordan Strobach-Morris, November 2012

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