The withering tree lying to itself
The leaves know its self-deception
But their tongue is dried up
They no longer utter meaningful words
Except whispering through cracking bones .
The trunk is most deceived
It holds its hope still green
Entrenched in clogged soil.
A life of illusions
Encouraged by a line of ants
Witnessed by a crippled grasshopper.
In my child hood
I used to clean my teeth with its twig .
Its gum has thickened my blood .
Now
We resemble each other