Lonely Tree

it stands alone
itself in the dark
its glistening green leaves
its chestnut brown bark.
dancing in the wind
it sways front to back
it's dying very slowly
sunlight and water alack.
its skinny little branches,
its shriveled tiny roots;
it will soon be cut down
by a tall man in black boots.
it cannot run nor hide
as it sits in the ground
waiting for its death
it will not make a sound.