On The Death Of Trees

The trees are displeased

Modern axe

Chainsaw engine roars

Wood chip shrapnel flies

Old growth lost

Timeless majesty

Viscous amber sap

Flows like blood

A flood become mud

Hundreds of years gone

An eye’s blink

Terminal ring count

A million lives hurt

Dependent

On extinct refuge

The arboreal

Canopy

Avian shelter

Generations’ home

But no more

Aerial roost felled

Skyline now vacant

Bird song stilled

But just willows weep