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Dead Tree
It lost it’s leaves. It lost it’s life. But it wouldn’t rest in peace. It wouldn’t lose it’s stones. The dead tree remained on the hill night after night. It stood like a setinal against a velvet background, silent It’s black branches reached up to the stars. Watching, waiting. Crickets sang for it. A cool breeze blew brown and broken leaves around it. Still, it watched.
There! A movement in the uncut grass. Nothing would disturb the dead tonight. An owl swooped from it’s branches; silent, invisible. A quiet thump, a squeak, and no more movement. Job well done.
A silver sliver in the sky peeked out from behind a stray cloud. It didn’t dare shine. Not tonight. The graveyard would stay dark under the dead tree. Nothing would stop it from it’s nightly vigil.
It guarded the graveyard. It’s graveyard. The people slept with it’s roots. The tombstones all belonged to it, to be guarded until the end of time.
There! A movement in the uncut grass. Nothing would disturb the dead tonight. An owl swooped from it’s branches; silent, invisible. A quiet thump, a squeak, and no more movement. Job well done.
A silver sliver in the sky peeked out from behind a stray cloud. It didn’t dare shine. Not tonight. The graveyard would stay dark under the dead tree. Nothing would stop it from it’s nightly vigil.
It guarded the graveyard. It’s graveyard. The people slept with it’s roots. The tombstones all belonged to it, to be guarded until the end of time.