Each October, behind the public library,
I would find two ginkgos, side by side,
majestic as a mister and missus,
dressed out in fall couture,

brilliant yellow-gold, each leaf uniform,
exactly the same shade,
trumpeting Fall, keeping the sun
even on cloudy days.

They had probably changed this way
for generations, archetypal trees,
Seventh Wonders of Autumn,
like their ancestors had for millions of years.

In March they are gone,
razed, with bitter irony,
for a new wing of the library –
cut down like worthless obstacles

for a building full of books.
Nothing remains but clawed-up ground.
I realize, as I commit ink to paper,
that we trade trees for words every day.

But this was different.
These were my friends.

03/07/2003

Posted on 03/07/2003
Copyright © 2025 Bruce W Niedt