our tale begins with sunny starts in march.
you’re born with siblings left and right in starch.
your father holds your fingers with his hands
and forces eyes to watch the trunk that stands.
july is here, and rears her ego high,
defeating clouds, and happy children cry
with friends alike. as told, you drink your fill
and photosynthesise for chlorophyll.
october, with the colour with no friends,
has come and torn your fingers from the ends,
stole you from your father’s loving grasp
and watched you, screaming, fall down to the grass
but now you’ve crumbled, green to brown to black.
and drowned in moistened soil. encore. come back.