The Lonely Palm Tree

Alone on the top, it stands bold, yet to be bald
Confronting the winds which could only be heard
formidable to her whipping and thrashing
There he stays forlorn, serenading to the waters
And though his voice is silenced by the roaring waves
he does smile and he does cry, in times wet and dry
He watches the people afar, the smoke and the smiles
He promises an experience, wishes a hug in return
But seldom does he get the peace of a new-found love
Someday he would be weakened like the flying fowls
when he would bend the last angle to kiss the ground
And then from miles away would be seen just a memoir
And stories of isolation, valor and vulnerability
The lonely palm tree, standing bold and to be bald.