[An old battered branch..]

An old battered branch

hangs limp in a tree,

scarred from many storms

that tried shaking it free.

As if taunting the trapped bough

it’s stolen leaves flutter by,

and for a moment the broken branch wished

if only it could fly.

Rather than crumbling into ground,

be swept up to the sky.

Though the air is still now,

somewhere a storm still breathes;

swirling clouds in the skies,

stirring waves in the seas.

Still the old stubborn bough

hangs onto it’s tree.

Too strong to let go,

yet too weak to be free.