OTHER THOUGHTS ON SEEING A DEAD TREE
I do not see you, dead tree, this way, but in green finery,
Limbs and branches outstretched in splendor and beauty,
I see many a chipmunk, squirrel and bird building a home
In your branches, a haven to return to when they did roam.
How many seedlings blown on the wind are yours tree?
Over your many years a new growing forest you would see,
How many harsh winters? How many summer too dry
Did you live through dear tree, before you did die?
In spring as your leaves burst to life, a cycle come again,
Did joy fill your heart as you overcame winter’s pain?
How many colours did those leaves show in the fall?
I am sure that your vibrant shades outdid them all.
Oh, No, tree I do not see you standing there lifeless and dead,
But see you living and growing in magnificence instead,
And if you fall and you see a woodman’s axe or cruel saw,
Then at least you will give of your warmth freely once more.
(Millicent) Ann Margetson July 12, 2003