Hers was not a heartwarming story.
Just another voiceless soul accepting
a vaporous existence, dull, boringly dull…
not like her life before her parents died.
Traveling under their wings, her under developed
skills never matured to sustain herself without them.
Her tree didn’t make a sound when
crashing to the ground; the tree trimmer
wore heavy ear protectors and the neighbors…
they didn’t care for the eyesore of her youth.
The tree fort had been built by her father;
smashed to bits, the sturdy splinters exploded
upon impact sending one through her heart.
Sawing and trimming the branches, the worker
couldn’t hear her gasping clutching her release…
a sliver of 2X4 kiln dried pine wood.