Taken from the core root of something like a flighted bird,
From the essence of freedom and the comfort of an elevated nest,
No longer was she perched upon stumps of contentment or peace,
Her dawn chorus broke and was stolen into silence,
She was placed in monochrome.
Her once lively essence captured and silenced like the stillness of a tree trunk,
A dead, crumbling tree at the root,
Seemingly too large and stiff to be removed from the poisoned soil,
Standing hard amongst weather like Mount Washington's,
Rigid in the wind and one glum expression pursed at the lips of the bark.
Yet, the skies opened up,
The clouds sobbed savagely one last time,
Through flooding water into grounds of her poisoned essence, color grew,
Flowers and fronds, needles and grass,
Her leaves carried in the wind broken free from her hard trunk of illness.
She was a bird again,
Perched upon stumps of contentment and peace.
