Broken Branch

Broken branch on forest floor And hanging on the tree no more, All tangled twisted overgrown It now remains forever prone, The broken branch a solemn sight Split on one November's night, When the wind was cruel and strong And gales were gusting for so long. And now the moss and fungi grow The branch remains as seasons go, And coiled in ivy winding weaves While resting on a bed of leaves, Its brittle twigs do make a perch For all the woodland birds that search, For grubs and insects on the ground Upon this branch they too are found. Cloaked by nettles fern and weed Upon this branch the woodlice feed, While worms and beetles bore away It soon will crumble with decay, The broken branch will be no more No longer lying on the floor, So many years since it did fall Yet so much life it gave to all.