Majestic Elm

Dying leaves with withered seeds,
Mother, Nature dropped me to the ground;
With sunshine, rain and fertile soil,
A home I had found;

Through spring and summer,
Slowly I began to grow;
Each fall I too became tired,
I slept through winter’s snow;

The seasons came blowing change,
My branches grew and bent;
People strolled during summer’s heat,
Pleased by the shade I sent;

With wind and by rainfall,
I continued to grow very tall;
Now old, diseased and strength exhausted;
No noise in this forest when I fall;

So look at me, to count my rings,
They will tell of my age;
Of seasons past as a community grew,
Upon Warwick’s stage.

--Chad G. Bell