Though there lies the tree, waiting
For it's demise of the unbeknown slate of foreknown fate. 
What is to come on the ancient island, not viewing
All of it's pleasures that is hold deep in the 
Darkened area at bay side? 
The shaded in outlines of the bird flowing, moving
Towards the lively target, without an eye blink away,
Can be seen as it gets smaller, smaller by every 
Inch it gives off. There the bird is, slamming the tree,
Rumbling the island's floor as if an earthquake 
Had persisted onwards out of the tree. 
Though, instead of the tree standing still where it
Stands, or the leaves popping off, falling to the side,
There the bird witnesses the death of the tree. 
Without a "timber" being yelled, & without a known
Thought of what is to come, there the tree falls on
It's own feetless feeted trunk, leaving only nothing
To remember by except the memory of the bird. 
What had happened that day, 
And why?