When ends meet

Leaves fell down
Like crisp tears.
It was white from dawn
And black from years.

It had seen night and day
And a light so pure.
It had been through the saw,
It had seen: a blur.

It had not heard
My pleading,
It had not heard
My call,

My cry to its last
As it left the long path,
That which leads us all
To an end in the mass,

The tree tore from the ground,
My voice, hardly a thread of sound.