The burnt tree

-
The burnt tree stands
O so very still.
Waiting in the ashes
Of it's own demise.
For the first drops
Of rain to quench.
This burning thirst
That it feels deep
Within it's
Shriveled roots.
But the tree
Only has the stolid sun
For company.
And in this barren valley
Where no rain falls.
The tree waits,
For the first whispers
Of clouds in the sky.
The burnt tree stands
O so very still.
Yet dying just a little
Each day.

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