Nearly Lost

She looks at the sun
Coming through the shreds of leaves
He drinks in all
The Tree has to offer
But forgets
She abandoned it long ago
For when he looks down
He sees what is lost
She runs her hand
Along the cold, dry base
But his finger is cut
By a blackened thorn
Beauty and color
Once lived here
Now only gray covers it all
And Death grips his withered hands
The now weakened roots
She is blind
To the needs of the Tree
For all he must do
Is surround it with love
And a dying soul
Will flourish once more