Death, the raven, and the tree.

And with the raven, he did find,
that death did follow, soon behind.
The grasp of cold, the hand of fate,
soon did take from him this date.
And as the withered tree did rot,
the faded man was soon forgot.

And when the man is dead and gone, the tree is left, the only one.
Once a tree, a forest, a grove,
now withered and charred, without care or love.
But in that tree, hope does lie,
That one day a stranger may walk by
and restore to the tree to its former glory,
to once again, renew our story.

A lovely poem. There's symbolism in there that resonates. Especially the image of the wasted tree and the thought of a stranger who might renew it.