The Ghost Of A Tree (Poetry)

Why it sickened so
and its twigs grew blind
aren’t the truths I know
such slow death unkind
cold steel cut it down

Stump still visible
ringed by Spring’s fresh grass
those remembered limbs
sway with winds that pass
cloud recalls its crown

And on sun-filled days
there’s a ghost of shade
flickering that plays
where its shape once made
patterns cross the lawn

Spirit-blossom white
with soft perfume clings
tricks the slanting light
searching for lost things
disappeared or flown

Etched in the mind’s eye
there to lift and spread
branches to the sky
life’s sweet sap unbled
darkness overthrown