I sat the stump alone crying, crying,
The wooden remnant dead of sanguine axe;
I clawed at eyes aggrieved drying, drying,
My freshly streaming tears like flowing wax.
I clenched my fists as though hiding, hiding,
A secret borne of love and hateful spite;
But the leaves lay dead and gliding, gliding
On winds that speeded through the fateful night.
I’d longed to leave the tree spreading, spreading
So slowly ‘gainst the wind that fluttered leaf
And branch thus tasting and dreading, dreading
The children leaving wood to gasps and grief.
And dead and dead are now meeting, meeting
While the leaves rustled their greeting, greeting.
This post is submitted by Ramchandar Ravi, a student of PGDM IIM Indore