The Fallen Old Tree

The Fallen Old Tree

In a quiet glade, where shadows played,

An old tree stood, its branches swayed.

With leaves like whispers, gentle and free,

It watched over the valley, a guardian, you see.

But one fateful night, the howling wind came,

With a roar that echoed, wild and untame.

It tugged and it pulled, with a fierce, biting breath,

Till the roots gave way, and it danced with death.

Down by the river, it tumbled and rolled,

Through the mist and the darkness, its story was told.

The villagers gathered, their hearts filled with grief,

For the tree was a friend, their solace, their leaf.

They cried out in sorrow, voices intertwined,

Mourning the old tree that nature had blind.

For each branch that shattered, a memory fell,

Of laughter and shelter, of tales they would tell.

Now the river flows on, a current of tears,

Carrying whispers of love through the years.

Though the tree may be fallen, its spirit stays near,

In the hearts of the villagers, forever held dear.