The Fallen One


When a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound,
with leaves of every color drifting silent to the ground,

her days of glory faded now, no longer at her best,
as in a cloud of dust the mighty giant comes to rest.

The years of growth now measured as a ring for every year,
though none reveals the suffering no one will ever hear;

those snowy days and lack of rain, the storms or windy gale,
how through it all without a word she managed to prevail,

with scars upon her body that no man will ever see,
from birds and little creepy things that fed upon the tree,

that still remain close to the heart of this one so sublime,
somewhere deep inside the wood, lost in the rings of time.

And so she lies with branches buried deep in soil and sand,
a last embrace before she goes to where her life began,

this hero who gave all she had to anyone in need,
now lies upon the forest floor. a Fallen One indeed.

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