Tree

Tired tree, You hang so hollow; Who has stolen your joy? Why, just a moment ago You swayed and sang, Your whispering wind-song Whirling above me, And you were happy But now you are still, So deadly still, Somehow stricken Into a sad silence Bad weather, maybe, Or something I said? Won’t you speak? Or can’t you tell me? But from above, No weary rustle sounds; No branch bears a reply; Only your leaves fall, Slowly, softly, Painting the pallid ground Where I first heard Your voice.