Tomorrow will be late The world around, thick and dense With grasses and shrubs, like the
prairies. Fodder to live for some For others, a refuge to hide. Some grass not tall enough To hide from falling a prey; The strong with all their might, escaped. The hapless was pounced upon,
strangled and devoured. A tree stood like a caring mother Tall amidst the grassland With branches spread, Ready to shelter the weak and
gullible; Like a mother, caring and tending Her child from birth to adulthood; Cuddled between branches, The child in arms safe and sound. Years passed, the tree now old; Child, now a grownup, but still, Held on to the creaking branches To take all he can, even as his
mother bled. The branches drooping, no strength to
hold, Wilting and shorn off all
leaves; One heard the tree plead Come closer, for tomorrow will be
late. My branches weak My trunk frail, my fall imminent Be there, help me descend Gently like an autumn leaf.
