Birthing, thriving, dying, gone

The tree by the train tracks;
Or the train tracks by the tree?;
Before man bound steam;
Into its iron horses, galloping;
Centuries of standing silent;
Amongst the leaves;
Birthing, thriving, dying, gone;
Its bristles raking the air-;
Once fierce and thrashing, then;
Placid, serene, with jays soaring;
So high as to leave the realm behind;

Wet, the bark is soft, deceptive;
For the strength that lies inside;
One day
the storm shall wrench its;
Wise and ancient roots out;
Or the selfish beings;
So small and short-lived;
Will come with gleaming axes;

What remains- a tapestry of triumph;
The humble stump,
Of a past now forgotten;