A time-worn tower of life
Now so rife with death.
The wind had once sung gently
to the soaring giant when it stood.
And in turn the giant danced.
Idle for eternity until
the grove beneath bode welcome.
Forgotten by passing birds.
The fount of life stood cold
where once the redwood grew.
It seemed forlorn and broken.
With diligence I did approach
as not to hinder newborn growth,
and looked upon the ruin.
New life aspired atop the body,
yet nonetheless it was bereaved.
Naught but an empty husk.
From the shattered base
I drew a relic like a sword
from within a tattered sheath.
I lingered for a moment,
free from bonds of woe,
and pocketed the fragment.
And so am I so honored
and so humbled by this
slab of time, taken from
the past.
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