it won't be the same

the tree falls
in the middle of the night
heavy
with rain.
it tumbles with
hardly a note,
or sound.
it's been silent
nearly
all its life except
for the sweep
of leaves in wind,
the rustle of
them
dying, floating
softly
to the ground, but
now this. this quick
end.
the cool shade,
its glory of color,
this absence
is sudden and sad.
more trees will come,
but it won't
be the same.