The limbs are cut, he stands there bare
Without a sprig of springtime there.
A ghostly sight mid seasonÂ’s green,
He almost looks like Halloween.
No nestling nest is in his arms
No canopy for natureÂ’s charms.
The wind it whistles in the cold
Oh how it makes one feel so old.
Does he lament his younger days?
His shade in grace and carefree ways?
Does he recall the childrenÂ’s glee
Their happy climbing in the tree?
Now heÂ’ll make way here on the street
For a tall steel light in grey concrete.
Illumination at a cost
Another shady place is lost.
Too soon theyÂ’ll come with jagged teeth
A few deep cuts there underneath
Will break his stand down to the root
To the chipper then or burned to soot.
