She Bears No Fruit

The barren tree crooked and bent,
like a senile old woman,
has forgotten what she is for,
has forgotten how it feels
to have leaves growing
in her branches.

She no longer feels the rush

of food through her core,
photosynthesized memories
are her only nourishment.

She forgets the feeling of Spring,
her youths bloomed and blown
in the breeze, now she is brittle
long past any usefulness,
it’s only a matter of time
before dry rot sets in.