A fully grown tree starts to bloom,
Underneath the watchful eye of the waning moon,
The soft, radiant light gives refuge from night's darkness,
Dimly illuminating the ancient sentinel's wintered carcass.

Majestically the might tree stand above the rest,
Yet upon its greening crest,
A malady is seen, and it starts to wither branches in the tree,
In Time's eyes, no more will they be.

Time has again wrought many scars into the skin,
But the tree never shows the pain within,
And it forever endures the fury of it all,
Withstanding Nature's bold attempts to make it fall.

These are petty matters, the tree shall not fail,
Not even amongst the damaging, icy hail,
the day to die is inevitable. its time must come to pass along,
But until that fateful day, the tree will remain strong.

Will something hear it crash when it falls?
Amidst Nature's screaming, relentless squalls?
Alas, the answer will forever evade,
For it lies in a darker shade.

The Sun arises to announce day's first light,
Banishing the night's brief respite,
The tree does not look very sound,
Because it lays upon the dewy ground.