There was a farmer

He had a dog

But his name wasn't Bingo

He had a tree

With branches which

Made no fruit,

Yellowed leaves

Cancered leaves

So he stripped the branches,

Pruning the tree

He piled the branches high

Then lit them on fire,

Flames jumping miles

In a late October sky

The fingers snapped and crackled

As combustion consumed her

Feigning life.

He started back

Barn behind

Farmhouse ahead

Tree out of mind,

It stood naked

And shriveled

Flapping loosely in

A meager wind

Rotting from the inside out.