Brittle Finger Tree

Brittle finger tree slouching alone, ignored on by the breeze. Days float under your toes, no hands of friends to hold. Poor, brittle finger tree you pray to the Son and sleep in the rain. No heart to listen, no pocket watch to keep—no time to know how old you’d be if today a cake appeared with candles aglow. Brittle finger tree wrestling alone. Recklessly diving into the ground unmeaning to disturb baby birds whom house themselves in your little, bitter world. Brittle little finger tree, someday, you must grow. As people pass they find themselves apart of your earth. You’ll feel the circle of life—you’ll imagine pretty little girls and boys carving their love into your skin—no blood--- no blood will flow. Brittle little finger tree, your last breath has flown. Taken from your finger tips, left dying on sallow grounds. No one can always stand straight. Lean, my brittle little love, alone.