American Elm

She survived the states of her disorder
When most had been destroyed
Rooted in a comfort zone
She weeps but not for herself
Rather those hopelessly gone
To the clutches of familiarity
How could I not love all the seasons
All the years survived

Up the street a piece
I turn a bit and there she is
No longer sad
She is my Icon
Fighting a disease
That fights for her
So easy it would be
To give the parasites submission
Infecting herself to her end

But up and around the corner she waits
With flowing strands
And majestic determination
Knowing soon I will be there in admiration