The Perpetual Fall

There stood an old tree, independent and proud
With leaves of green, which adorned its crown
With boughs of strength, which upheld the crown
With roots stolen deep into fertile ground

Then the drought came, and souring the land
Naught subjugated roots could do in hot sand
Said the leaves, “Green alone makes a tree stand,
O roots, you shall wither without our command!”

Said the boughs, “Strength alone makes a tree great,
O roots, you shall shrivel if you do not us sate!”
So the roots complied and they withered and died
Rain came; leaf and bough suffered the same fate

From my cold quill,
Erebus Nekromantia

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