Just to keep this thread going, I’m putting this up:
All the Fallen Trees
Down in the old wood,
Evergreen, everglade, the old trees stood.
Tall and proud and mighty in knotted trunk,
In bough, in branch, in canopy like cowl of monk.
Shade in the old wood;
Dark, damp warmth where the old trees stood.
A meeting place where skylark sings and robin nests,
But plague, wooden strife,
Hollow, empty, nothing though external life.
Trees wither on the inside; they do not know
The might and pride and leafy shade are but a show.
Thus comes the woodsman,
Short, sharp knock and he understands.
The axe chips, the axe fells, the axe gives no care
To who was taller, wider or whose leaves more fair.
All the fallen trees,
Leaves and branches rustle in the rippling breeze,
Still waving at tomorrow that has been and gone;
A wasted opportunity to be someone.