Fallen Friend: A Poem

The mournful, eery groan
of a majestic felling friend
Finding the ground she
had shaded and stood sentry
Called me to come
and be a witness.

The loamy smell of
secret dirt, roots
Torn from their
100s of years underneath
The lost height now
stretching endlessly
toward grey liminality.
A wash of grieving tears
for this mother of so
many, still budding
Still reaching for growth
Her battle scars, her
rings of ancient days
beautiful and wrenching.

Brother hawk sat vigil, too
Both of us knowing enough
To come and be. To come and be.