Eight-line Poems

What They Used To Be

What They Used To Be

Yggdrasill, the World Tree, older by far than time,
to friends it’s known as Iggy,
not oak, nor beech, not larch, not verdant lime,
but ash, declared the Piggy,
higher than the beetling sky, bright as summertime,
there’s none dare call it Twiggy,
but now its fame has passed away, its honour only grime,
I think I need a ciggy.


Line count: 8
Rhymed abababab
For Express It In Eight, 09.18.23
Prompt: Write a poem about something/someone old.