a broken tree

warm drops fall to the already dreanched earth,
tears from above.
a body is rocked by the unspeakable force,
emotions strong as a gale of wind.
an unstoppable shaking,
the branches, the leaves, the hands.
the roots of the tree, the very heart,
broken; lost to the pain and anger within.
where is the gardener now?
the one to take care of all the inner needs?
where is the gardener now?
to soothe away the emptiness surrounding this one broken being.
but who would help a tree so old,
a large tree maple, that should be able to help it's self.
who would imagine that even something with such a tough exterior
would have an inside of soft mishmashed parts.
parts that need tending.
that need love and devotion.
and who better to give these things that the loving gardener,
the man who should care more about the tree than all else.
but where is be now?
probably with some new little poplar,
all the attention for his old love diverted.
his old love is left to fend for herself in the cruel world of falling rain.
tears from above.