It's life might have been momentary, But it's efforts were monumental. It nutured the youngling no matter what, Be it the scorching sun or the wailing winds. Time painted a yellow blush down its midrib, A relic of a different time, it slowly felt the chill of death. It hoped for a funeral, a witness atleast, The time came for its final ride in a chariot of memories. Isn't it's demise, a cause for lament? It's yellowing, a sign of the times? The stalk grew heavy with the burden of a lifetime, The yellow glow fainted, leaving dead, dried veins. The West Wind carried it to it's Valhalla, A battle won, it's scar etched on the bark. Songs of valour might not be sung of it's struggle, But how can a child not miss their mother? @Binaryocean