Damn That Tree
Damn that tree that fools us with its beauty,
tall and noble, sturdy, flowing sap;
comes the woodsman, he'll just do his duty
felling it and grinding it to pap.
If you let it stand - don't kill! - it may reward you
with its annual buds and colored leaves
spreading goodness like the forest lord you
hear about in myths where cunning thieves
steal from its fruit or take its branches
which shelter birds and insects like its jewels:
the holy tree gives up its life and staunches
shorter lives that worship it like fools.
But each year falling leaves are a reminder
that each year brings it closer to demise;
once gone, another tree sprouts, then come blinder
progeny who aren't one bit more wise.
Why bother? When the tree lords of creation
are heading for extinction just like us?
an exercise by God in more frustration;
one wonders why the effort and the fuss.
I guess I'll wake tomorrow, be distracted,
admire the trees and listen to the birds,
our life's a play, a dream, somewhat protracted
and God's God has the final word.