You, all in pieces,
Raw, exposed, your big, pale heart
Embracing decay

Your name means distant
In some ancient, dead language
Or maybe rebirth

The spaces between
Hold nascent, crawling creatures
Where your bark was once

Your heart tells stories
Encircled by rings of red
Summer, autumn, spring

Your winter is this:
One day, something broke in you
Hurt beyond repair

The butterflies watch
Black grey brown wings shelter
Stealing all the light

In the cool darkness
Out of the dead leaf carpet
You raise up new life

Penned by my hand on the 3rd of Lupar, in the year 645 AF.