Ode to the Trees

Along the path I walk each day

The trees stood still everyday

Conspicuous unseen.

Evening came and as I walk

I saw the tree's dust on the path,

The space is empty where they stood,

Shock horror, shock horror,

I comprehend and understood.

Who hast cut down the trees?

They that governs and council the land

How ironic!

My foot stood rooted to the path,

As if to replace the trees that are lost,

How many was cut down in less than a day?

Four trees!

Who stood up as they fell?

Did they cry out? Was there a crash?

Did the earth shake at their lost?

What will happen now that they are gone?

There are things that can be replace

But the trees that are gone, none can take their place,

What heights would they have gone?

What centuries might they have known?

They will never know, we will never know.

How ironic, I miss the trees,

Like some sycophant, I now stop at the spot where they were,

Trying to remember them,

Can't see the woods for the trees.

All that is left is the fresh cut stumps,

The inside white like flesh that has been cut,

The wounds has bled, the trees are dead...

Along the path I walk each day,

I look at the other trees that stood there everyday...