The gnarled serpentine branches of an old barren tree
Stretch themselves out as empty arms to benevolent skies
Trying to caress the twinkling stars like lamps
With the twigs devoid of the velvet of leaves
It tries to pray mumbling forgotten unaccustomed words
Of worship and sincere homage on Nature’s altar
Yearning for green softness of foliage as drapery
For the lost sweet fragrance of blossoms once nestled
In the lofty boughs that swayed in the gentle breaze
For the twitter of swallows on its arms and bosom
Songs of the shy nightingale to echo in its dense foliage
Even for squirells to hide nuts in its hollows
And for the wooodpecker to carve its cove out of its sturdy trunk
Try to lure the lunar orb dangling in the lofty heaven
To enjoy moments of slumber cradled on its arms
Under the soporific aura of the velvety ebon night
Like the vines that entwine on nude arms
And insects that nestle in its old moist caverns
Some promises of life still bloom on this barren tree
The armchair adventurers with snow in the hair
And wrinkles on the countenance of complacence
With crinkled, blurred eyes peering at the twilight of life
Are like the gnarled barren tree, naked of foliage…