Poem: My Trees

This poem…I work at a bank, right?  Right across from the bank I used to work at, there was an empty lot with some beautiful trees that grew in the plots between us and the lot.  They were so sweet.  Very soon, construction started up and the trees were one of the first things to come down.  It happened in the Spring, when the leaves were at their brightest green.  Birds were flying and flitting all around the branches.  After the trees were felled, I saw the birds float forlornly over the dying trees.  It was so sad to me.  And then, in true “Sarah” form, I began to introspect.  And this poem came out.  I hope you enjoy it.  I was under a lot of influence at the time by Robert Frost…so, you might notice some parallels in sound from him…I can’t help but mimic what I’m hearing.  🙂

May 13th, 2005

The tree that grows gracefully –
Brown trunk, straight, solid
With verdant, jagged leaves –
Lightly tosses in the breeze
Of this warm May jour.
Through my window, beyond cars
Choking the air, grabbing at the green
From chutes overhead, I watch
The trees shimmer in the sun.
The greed of paper faces soon takes
My mind and I look down at a tray of
Keys with letters and another face of light.
I glance up at the tall giant and smile
At the secret of Life we both share.
Some men out passed the rows of
Cars, passed a silver grate of separation,
Take plows and dig into a mound of earth.
The trees stand tall, a tender show of
A miracle abounding – as do I.
And then they come, not as surveyers of
Beauty and life, they simply do as they must.
My heart betrays as I see their task.
Though I know the necessity, my heart breaks
As the testimony breaks simply. The giant
Of green, my co-companion in glory, falls –
Quickly, silently, through my triple-paned glass.
How could they? How could they not
See the green leaves, catching the sun
And glowing bright? Could they see
Them tremble at the break,
Falling in a breathless heap? Or,
Is this just my heart I see?
This sight of splendor and craftsmanship,
No more a tall display of a Maker’s care,
Is this the tree or me I see?

Sarah ><>

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