WEEPING FOR AN OLD FRIEND

In the storm's aftermath
we search for candles
and check for damage.
The venerable oak came down
in slow agony,
rattling the windows
and our nerves.

I weep in silence
for the loss of my friend:
mute reminder
of my children climbing
and laughing
among leafy branches.

I am left with an ache
as when my best friend
moved away.
Grieving is useless,
but I still grieve.
The tree is gone
only a hole remains.