Kim Stone Poet Free verse

Dust

  Did you hear the trees cry?
  Wincing with pain as the saws bit.
  Again,
  And again,
  And again.
  Wailing as branches broke.
  Sobbing great clouds of leaves.
  In the end,
  Sawdust laid where the massacre began.
  The smell attacking my nose,
  Of live wood laid low.
  A neat stack of firewood.
  The yard open,
  Countenance to the sun.
  Squirrels quickly found another route.
  Birds chirped.
  Yet I grieved the loss of every inch.
  Cut to allow safe passage.
  For a woman who no longer strides.
  The stumps will remain,
  Used for seats or a table.
  I cried with the trees,
  For time that has past to dust.

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