A Tree I am

Small but strong

My branches bend in the wind

They sway rustling a soulful song

These roots run deep

My leaves sometimes fall

But never a wind nor tornado

Never a strike of lightning will make

Nor a roar of thunder will shake

NO — None could create the worst thing of all

POISON. It drips salaciously from your lips

One drop is all it takes

One drop drips and death it makes

No other choice is given

One drop — One chop

The Tree that is Me becomes the pages your precious books are printed upon

The pages for the notes you play your music from

The very same pages I wrote this poem on

So, I will NEVER really be gone.

Inspired by three lovely ladies, We — Dickinson, Plath, and Me.