the bird said to the tree: "Oh why are you so tall and stately! with lush green laurels upon your crown, swaying gently under the mischievous tugs of the zephyr."
Tree replied with narry a hurry, murmuring with a sigh, struggling to be heard under the caphanony of birdsongs greeting the coming of dawn: " oh bird, but I am not happy so!"
"and why is that so tree! Does not seeing your beauty reflected in that clear spring you shadow delight you with songs soaring throught your soul!"
"Ah! But the fact is, I do not feel beautiful. Bird you say I am beautiful, the visiting deer exaults my grace and the wistful spring sings praises of my dashing canopy. But I do not feel beautiful. I do not feel beautiful because I am tired so."
"oh tree, let me help you. Such majesty ought not deserve to be seeped in sorrow. I shall be your listening ear and you may pour upon my slender wings your deep melanchoy. Let me then take flight and disperse your symphony of misery to the air currents above."
"Ah bird! the weight of centuries of knowledge creaks on my innocuously strong branches. I may seem strong but I borrowing unseen louse creep through my capillaries and undo me from within. My eremeld leaves hide the numerous parasitic wasp larvae burrowing within. I am weak. weak of will and weak of heart. Tired of seeing the season pass with narry a visitor cept the woodland creatures who come as they will to take the fruits of my labour. This beauteous spring so clear, so frolicksome of life hath no other companions for me. Am I not the only tree here abouts taller than a young sapling. Ye old willow tree who was my love and life long companion was struck down by the ravages of a summer hail hither months back. Hath I no one to share my days with for I am old beyond time and twas hard for an old soul like me to start anew with friends for..."
Admist the tree's tirade, he realised the bird was gone. he stopped, shocked into silence, stunned by a sense of betrayal. the tree has just got into the momentum of things. he had been silent for over past a century, having no old companion to murmor weet nothings to. his voice rusty from disuse had cracked saying hi. the hidden delight he felt at being approached was bird promised to be a friend, yet like all flighty creautres of its kind. It had left without a goodbye. The cracks in the tree's armour broke down, the chinks giving way to the flood of depression. like the wick of a candle his spirit rose to great heights before being snuffed out without a warning. He had felt alive for once, remotely sentient. the loneiness had almost drove him crazy, yet he had tried his best to accept things as they were. Overnight its trees were shed, its branches bare. such was his sorrow. such was his pain.
Next day, the sun rose to a shell of a tree, its spirit gone. Tree gave up on life, the bird was the stick that broke its already whethered back. The empty branches a shadow of its former self.