Botticellian Trees  -Fading in the song of the leaves

One of them looked strong,
the other should have appeared
weaker:
Much more like death.

Is this not the case
when you study life
like a painting?

Our differences are minimal,
but they represent –to us-
our own significance
or, more so,
our lack of it.

The flourished tree is blind to it.
That is how it succeeded.
The weak limbs of its frail counterpart
have watched us all over the many years;
heard all of our fuss
and seen our useless agony
all for the sake of death

Or perhaps, the flourished tree
learned to laugh
with secrecy and quick desire
as we fight our ugly fight

towards nothing.