THE DEAD TREE

by Marc Carver

I looked at the tree,
it was dead,
grey bark
no leaves, in its outstretched hands,
but still it stood tall.

No one, could ever knock down
a tree like that
proud
even in death.

Then I saw,
it was holding
to its last breath.
The job that it had to do,
and I remembered,
what was behind the tree,
the old church
and before that,
the cemetery.
The tree was a warning,
as the dead bodies, creeped into his trunk.

Only one thing was for sure
I would not be coming past there at night.