Sigh of a Dying Tree

I can only laugh, alone,

Muffling my lips and nostrils

With fingers too tired to type

the words, “It’s fine.”

I guess the night’s too young

For me to dream of seeing

After all my waiting

For the stars to come.

Perhaps, it’s inevitable,

Perhaps, it’s natural,

Perhaps, it’s beyond my fingertips

Clearing the sky of cloudy time

I can only feel empty,

Nod at the weather,

Disguise with a grin,

Quietly resign.