Matric farewell?

(to my hummingbird.) How did it come to this? Where are you in this big old world? I thought we’d made that promise, to always be friends. With youthfull enthusiasm we declared our friendship-bond under that old acorn tree. We’ve become the cliché we so despised. “We’ll keep in touch no matter what!” “I’ll write you every day!” The letters dried up, and excuses overflowed. So today I sit under the gravestone of our friendship. It’s braches reach and cleave the sky like fingers. Where we once talked the hours away, there is now only a grave filled with memories. Your epitaph carved in the bark: You are missed dearly.