By Sunder
There was once a tree upon a cliff,
one given much sentimentality.
Upon with it, the tree stood grounded
with its roots can it never be decimated.
The leaves danced as the zephyr sang
the whispers of the past, what once was.
The tree stood isolated form the forest crowd
and can never be moved for it was abound.
The branches all worn, lost strength and grip,
yet it becomes sturdy when children go near.
When everyone is with a heart so benevolent,
when every horrible wight gives it no fear.