From beginning of time they have grown,
to fall to none but nature alone.
They each have a name, ancestors and heir,
Majestic they stand living only to share.
Home for the woodland creatures of God,
living extensions of Mother Earth’s sod.
Willow, Oak, Maple,
Ash and Elm too.
All fruits and berries,
to name but a few
No quake or icy storm that blew,
laid them in its wake.
They did not die of old age,
or for Heaven’s sake.
Now they lie in the rumble
of mechanical sound,
Their roots torn from the sodden ground.
Thrown helter-skelter,
Birds ripped from their shelter,
leaving only the young ones to stand.
They must know from their plight
as they fade to the night,
that their fate is the folly of man.