you would be different.
I thought
you would have changed.
But
in all these weeks
you
have remained the same.
There are no more
ants
running down your shaded chain.
No little legs
with heads
that eat.
Your fake-white-sugar cane
with a minty name.
The leaves have curled
and dried
in shade.
A living shield
of natures' name.
The long days
the birds still hum.
still come
and spare you
some.
Slightly cracked, with black
dirt-dots.
Your not a leopard
that's changed it's spots.
But a constant
chained
and longed for-spot.
Beside the tree whose wood won't rot.
( Object response)
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