Lime Trees

Written by: Paula Puddephatt

Summers consist of

peridot mornings,

and emerald afternoons.

The trees filter the sunlight - 

so often saving me from

those headaches, which might have

mutated, evolved into migraines.

 

By autumn, the leaves have changed colour:

a poet's palette of

amber, copper,

gold, and red.

 

In winter, the trees are slender,

with a stark, grey-brown beauty:

looking fragile,

yet able to endure

the harsh frosts of the season.

 

And, throughout the seasons,

"they" plot.

They want

a concrete Universe - 

so they mark out their potential

victims, with orange spots.

 

The letters to local residents are headed:

"Implementation of

Environmental Improvements".

 

Yet, trees can bleed.

Scenes of carnage seal the deal.

They win; we lose.

So much wildlife, instantly evicted.

 

Fluorescent yellow workmen circle tree stumps,

inspecting their day's work - 

before going for "a pint",

and home for tea.

 

Spring is cancelled.