When half the mighty willow fell,

broke off and crashed into the Field,

it seemed ironic that it was

the living half the wind struck down.

The side left standing was all dead,

a skeleton of scaling bark

with pecker holes like marks of war.

You'd think the living half would be

the part most likely to survive.

The dead side might have crumbled long

ago. But living leaves resist

the wind and bear the brunt and lash

and tangle with the storm and take

the punishment to hold their foils

against an angry hurricane.

And now both sides are dead except

the longer dead still stands, goes on

for years perhaps, so lean, alone.