Tender Shoots

Tender shoots no more may stretch
Toward the light, no robust roots
To push through soil, and sand ,and loam
Where once the fragile buds of spring
Formed blossom, nectar laden,
Glistening with morning dew;
No more.

But in the drying branches,
Each crack a shelter, safe harbour for
Now-teeming hordes of insects
Industrious and oblivious
For burrowing creatures, for whom
Wood presents a feast; for moss and lichen,
Peeling bark an anchorage against the wind.
And so, the tree,
Whilst dead, lives on.