Tell them that tree stopped at age 32;
tell them it's done and it'll be verified if they watch it.
Tell them the movement's the wind fighting for its space;
it hasn't groqn any since it turned 32.
Tell them that tree won't cast shade past this March.
Tell them they'll have to find it somewhere else or make friends with the sun.
Tell them to just touch it or taste of its bark
and deduce that it's fucked.
Tell them the thing was never good anyway;
their perception was filtered with good moods and rich meals.
It was just the way the sun hit
and their own damn good moods.
At best it was okay and only on sunny days,
tell them they remember those 32 years falsely.
When it falls they'll forget
and that's the best way to remember that dead stupid tree.
