a tree's fate

The lack of heat and overwhelming cold,
weakened the grand old tree’s hold.
As green turns gold or red then brown in fall,
Inevitably, it must surrender to nature’s call.

The leaves that wither become brittle,
On the ground, as destined, they descend little by little
Eventually, the wind takes it farther from its source.
Lifeless and alone, the old tree weeps defeated from the force.

Rain would conceal its tears, while its trunk hunches.
Then ice would soon weigh on its branches.
No birds will flock around for company,
nor humans that often seek shelter beneath canopy.