The Leaves are Dying

Our tree is dead,
the leaves rotting,
death is near us,
love closing.
Nothing leaves our lips,
not not a whisper,
we are falling deeper,
we are closing.

Our tree once beautiful,
with leaves full of love,
is now a distant stain,
in the backdrop of our lives.
Nothing can bring it back,
not even our love,
because that too has diminished,
forever rotting under us.

One day I will go back there,
to see our love that was,
and I will weep for us,
because we once were.
Nothing will heal it,
the wounds that were made,
but someone can hold it shut,
when you left away.

~Adrienne Zobell~ 04/22/09

This is about a tree Tanner and I used to go to the first year we were going out. It was somewhere we enjoyed being. I wrote this poem when I felt it had died, not the tree but the love it represented.