A lonely being, standing at the crossroad,
abandoned by your family and friends –
the healthy, youthful lot who once stood by you,
now long gone – used as firewood by humans,
made into planks, tools, ornaments of unknown use to you –
and here you stand alone, grown old in years,
long having outgrown all the youthful fears
of feeling the same blade the others felt –
you know now that your shape protects therefrom,
you’re useless – and therefore were left alone,
have long since into full potential grown –
but rather than feel blessed, you ask, in all your solitude:
“Why live; when lonely, miserable – bereft of friends and youth?”