The insects inside you bore away
for decades, feasting on your tasty
wood as if it were a never ending meal.
Despite the damage you continued
to morph by extending your roots
and creating more rings,
rising above the majestic blue spruces,
your branches and prolific leaves
scrubbing the air around you.
While I always considered your species
a wild and ugly member of the copse,
I never imagined that on the inside
you were eaten alive by starving parasites
hell bent on sending you tumbling down.
june two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved