Clarion Call

The rotting process,
The ailing wood,
Slowly its strength ebbed,
Gradually its resilience declined,
Blemishes made inroads to its core,
Its roots became feeble and frail,
Its boughs withered,
They fell off like drops of rain,
When wood becomes earth,
It is washed away by
seasons” denude,
When wood sleeps,
It is home to crawling creatures,
A loss to nature’s tapestry,
A marker for tomorrow’s frayed beauty.