Alone in the woods he stands.
His friends are far,
for his roots stretch long.
A barrier,
that rips plants from the ground.

A home to many come and gone, he is ever-present.
The crooks in his limbs provide solace
while storms scream and swirl.

There is no wind that can take him,
nor a man or axe strong enough to pierce his skin.
When it rains, he grows.

When the sun shines he dries
and shakes off in the breeze.
Birds nest, beetles bustle and leaves grow,
they fall and turn to dust along his slender arm.

Nothing changes.