You have not died
The mighty has fallen
victim of drought,
and heavy handed winter wind,
the tight embrace of gravity
coupled in the crime.
You do not claw the sky now
nor will spring bare its green children
upon your branches
nor birds feather nests in cuddling twigs .
In daylight revelry you will be sung aloud
child topiarists sculpting your branches
scavenging for swords and lances;
climbing your fake-mountain,
riding imaginary rapids on your trunk-canoe.
As evening ambushes the day,
the shuffling of small animals will give you a quiet voice
in place of those lofty breezey, dancing, whispers
that you once shared.
You have not died but moved on to another life.