The Buzzard Tree

We spent a wonderful time camping with friends this weekend, and while hiking a trail, my friend John, said look, I feel so sorry for buzzard trees. I said "a buzzard tree?" I looked and saw a tree covered with hovering large black buzzards, he said the buzzards have to live somewhere, but the tree is sacrificed, it dies from the acidic putrified droppings. I had never heard of a buzzard tree, or knew this information. I was a bit mesmerized by it, and hiked back to take pictures, the next morning. They were waiting, it was dark, and haunting. The pictures I took appear black and white, but they were taken in color, just a gray sky morning, winter trees, and black buzzards.  I found a poem, when I came home and typed in buzzard tree.

The Buzzard Tree

The buzzard tree stands forlorn
Of leaves and small branches shorn
Crafted by nature, stark and bare
With no life here to share
Draped in moss through which the wind blows free
Stirring as though life's in this tree
Branches twisted and broken fingers reaching
Grasping
Once a mighty oak, long departed
By nature haunted
Casting off bark and limbs
Until only there are maggots within
Feasting on the pulp of yesteryear
Gnawing away the last substance dear
Until in a final act of the Almighty
The tree comes down with a crash.

Does anybody hear or even care?
Sidi Mathrow -