Is it National Poetry Month?

Here's a poem I wrote.

Musings on a Fallen Oak

Totem of this dying place,
I stand before you,
Tower of decay,
Your limbs reach up,
As do mine,
You stretch skyward while I pray,
We groan together,
In this time of travail,
I see my end in your great corpse,
Your ancient crown once tall and proud,
Now bowed in humble reverence,
To the Maker,
The Giver and the Taker,
How long ‘til I am so arranged?
With naked limbs and weathered skin,
A hollow trunk,
In which no life resides.