Falling Branches

another limb fell down today
it crashed to the ground
but no one heard it
chips of old, worn bark
drifted sullenly to the grass

a birds nest sat in the crook of the old trees neck
twigs sticking out in odd places
reused a dozen times
but now, to worn to be used again

bright berries are the only color left
other than the tedious, faded bronze wood
like an old, worn, third place medal
bright green leaves left us
a long time ago

it looms over the grass
an air of melancholy surrounding it
stubs of branches reach out
remembering times we long forgot

a robin lands upon the thinner branches
perched precariously over the ground
and bursts into song.