Long dead,
it sheds its limbs
atop the knoll
where generations
of women bent to
grind granite
for acorn meal.
No longer shade,
a bony spire
for our pair
of crows to make
feather-quivering love
balanced in the light,
has finally succumbed
to gravity. Perch gone
we hope and trust
they’ll stay on
another season.
drycrikjournal 
Nice poem for a long-lost piece of Nature. It adds character to the scene, so lets hope it Does hang in there!
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Part of our evening view, it will always be symbolic.
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The great thing about dead trees is that they rot and replenish the soil. And they give to all manner of animals.
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