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Poem

Never spoke to a dying tree...
feeling its grief, consoling its sorrow?
I've heard many trees afflicted
with the mockery of being too old, 
of serving no purpose for Nature,
but is everything they do not seen by us?


I must disagree to explain their unvoiced, unheard lament
by sympathizing with them;
they surely have done amazing things
for our wonderful Earth: shading it
from all the harmful sunrays,
protecting the soil from being eroded and washed away.


Without any trees, there wouldn't be
green hills, valley and mountains
swaying with oak, spruce, maple and pine;
only desolate lands, barren peaks and cliffs baking
under the fiery sun to cause bushfires...
do you realize how it will effect us?


Every tree dies as humans do, by falling
to the bottom of dense forests, deep ravines and open meadows;
being engolfed by shrubs and young trees, 
to become their unhallowed, burial ground....
oh, feel compassion for them and show gratitude
for the work they have done to continuously preserve life and beauty!


I have used the following poetical device: Personification

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