he is the root of the tree
not like the others she meet;
the branches and the leaves.
they may be lively and free,
but without a root
there won't be a tree.
foilage blooming;
embraced by the wind
flagging red, withered within.
free fall down swirling around;
left with a foul and rottening ground.
branches so sharp
they ripped her apart
how she wonder did it all start?
the admiration of the leaves;
so narrow and brittle
no one seems to remember
the beginning of the riddle;
powers of nature set at bay
branches getting weaker for every day.
for whom can she trust without the source;
she will grow roots herself
for selfishness
is better than remorse.