DESERT TREE

Hard, "why" ,
holding fruits.
Dry ,"how come" ,
leaves should have fluid.
Sacrificing some more, mother of all.
Yet life is from you, I wish you wouldn't fall.


You stood along two years or three,
Though shy ,so bright, heavens spouse,
The lumber with the saw,
your smile he couldn't see,
,he cut, you fall,the place a sandy hall ,
Our lives now few ...I miss those days of art

Who is your desert tree; your fallen hero...

Monk