You lay upon the warm wet earth
torn from limb to limb.
Your present shape denies the girth
of the form you once had been.
Truncated tendrils mock your birth
about you ivy climbs,
my love for you evokes true mirth
but love does not end with time.
Now fallen, slain, cast for rebirth,
the core of you sublime,
an earthly stump, at forest skirt
a memory of grand times.
Yet, love lingers beyond base veils
and passion’s youthful prime.
I’ll wait for you beyond the pale
and you’ll return to be mine.