'Neath That Tree

On the earth somewhere stood a lone hill.
On the lone hill, stood a lone tree.
The tree was ancient and it was old. Ages passed the tree by. Children came, lovers went. Peace came, war went. Winds licked its bark, the roots drank the rain. Rain that fell and seeped deep into the earth, the tree drank. The sun scorched as the moonlight bathed, things came, things went.
The tree was grand once, now just a forlorn figure of better days. It looked like it mourns for the earth. Mighty branches no longer sturdy, it now looks droop, as if in mourning. It mourns for it stood. Death would not claim it. It just stood forgotten, consumed by time. Still it stood, wretched. Leaves fall from him one by one. Each falling leaf, a measure of splendour lost.
Sometimes, the wind will blow, its mocking whisper. The wind cuts through, leaving behind the sound of ruffling leaves. Sometimes, the tree moans as the wind cuts through its hollowed parts.
Sometimes the moon casts its glow. The tree in turn casts it shadows. Once upon a time, the tree cast a comforting shade with its proud bloom. Today it casts a shadow like a wight. Like a creature of the night, thin and frail, the shadow stretches longer. Like craving fingers the shadow stretches, wanting to wrap around what it could hold on to. It could hold on to nothing.
Looking at the shadow is like looking into a mirror. As much as the mirror is like an object of vanity, it also reminds of ones passing beauty. So it was with the tree as it looks upon its shadow.
All of this I considered as I looked upon the lonely tree. It had no company nor reason to live except for existence. Nothing but empty existence. I could feel its tears that it could not cry. I could hear its sob that it could sound.
I smile. We have a strange understanding. I took my seat beneath the tree. I looked at the tree once and I looked no more.