Screaming, the trees are being
killed; bitten by rabid backhoes
crashing into trembling pools
shaking leaves no more
just the ground that meets
their death then silence.
The dry underbrush parts
for the once proud bearers
of shade and dappled shadows
shuddering from the weight,
soughing silent tears,
making way for a bloodless death.
The slaying of hope and
anticipation that lured us to
the branch and bole and
the peaceful knoll near
the wood crushes my heart
and longs to holler no.
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