I sat beneath a melting tree,
that which was made from clay.
Though, as solid as it seemed,
I knew that it would one day erode away,
as all great things tend to do once they
experience rain for the very first,
and the very last time.
I listened for the pitter patter;
the rat-tat-tat falling upon
the melting matter that turned
from clay into muddy water.
I knew soon that such a tree
would no longer protect me,
as it would become a lonely stream
that may carry me away.
I did not object, in hopes that
one day I might return,
when the leaves upon the melting tree
had grown anew, and the rain would
cease to melt the lonely, hollow yew.
And my life would be finished,
as I have readied my urn.
To take me back to where
I had been long before,
beneath the clay tree
that would seem to melt away
by the tears of its mother;
and our mother, too.
And I would hope that one day
I may melt alongside you.
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