Immortal stand

The last of the immortals stood tall, undeterred.
In front, the scythe of death approached, large and in a herd.
In between stood an understated person, thin and tall:
Alone to hear a whispered scream, the last immortal's call.

The year was twenty-twenty -
Forty years before today.
When I was young and six feet tall, a dreamer,
So they say.

A firmness to the ground, the ever-green immortal stood,
Into the crust of Earth it bore, as deep as ever could.
The lushness of the freshness was a sight that one beheld.
To reach up high and touch the sky had seemed the green compelled.

The year was twenty-twenty -
Forty years before today.
No more gentle shade of giants left!
Who could say?

The hardened skin had held the cure to death of any kind.
No common species, type or any factor they could find.
No reproduction, replication, synthesis, it seemed.
"All of them must die so man can live", so they deemed.

The year was twenty-twenty -
Forty years before today.
I fought to save the life of an immortal.
What a day!