about a real event

[Luckieman]

Seven years on
 
The ancient ash tree fell
quietly: its hollow shell,
lately the home of bees,
bereft of its past might.
 
(They, being wise,
a month before departed
knowing it had died).
 
Two centuries it stood
and now it rests
prone, year on year:
a lair for creeping things.
Reluctant to descend at last
into eternal night.