The overcast sky was gloomy, dull and depressing,
The pouring rain dramatic as if a child was bargaining for toys,
As if it was scouring for sail, sputtering from saw.
The wind blew west, the wind blew east,
Yet the pouring rain remained all the same.
The lonely sail sat by her edge, swaying, swaying,
The majestic beast perched on its pedestal,
Bashed with rain, bashed with wind, it rose for the sail,
Soaked, scared, and scarred, it stood through it all
Its roots hang tighter and tighter but malnourished, and tired, it started losing its grip
The saw stood stronger than storm,
It pulled on each branch of the tree, splintered the sail.
The tree and sail sank, reduced to a cut of knotweed,
Knotweed that could only grow where no other plants could,
Always in solitude, always feeding off what nutrients it could find
On the trodden path, like a scavenger.
The tree tried to stand firm, bark peeling, leaves ripping,
Branches flying off in the wind.
Finally it folded, under the banner of the sale of saws.
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