Classic Poem

Not a twig or a leaf on the old tree,
Wind and frost harm it no more
A man could pass through the hole in its belly,
Ants crawl searching under its peeling bark
Its only lodger, the toadstool which dies in a morning,
The birds no longer visit in the twilight.
But its wood can still spark tinder.
It does not care yet to be only the void at its heart.