There is a stump where the gnarled old tree was.
The neighbor felled it for umu firewood.
Now smoke not shade unfurls where once it stood
And lupes fly above without a fuss.
On sunny days, its gaunt limbs and fingers
Seemed so much like a pleading oblation,
Bidding shades of memories not to shun.
Its resemblance to my soul still lingers.
How soon the birds forget the fruits it bore.
And buzzing bees and lizards now consume
The ooze of nectar from another bloom.
What is not there is easy to ignore.
Everybody knows, as the river flows,
When an old tree goes, another one grows.