We often find a shade under a tree, but sometimes it is the trees that seek a shade under our hands.
In the shade of our hands great trees rest And in the midst of our circle many forests hide Seeking relief from scorching greed And the strong foul winds of menacing commerce. Thickly they grow nourished by storms, The storms of our words and deeds That night and day stand with them. The sweet birds sing to them About an old tree now long gone That one day woke to the terrors of a blade. Valiantly did she stand her ground Defending her right to be a tree for a while: Not sawdust, not plywood, not firewood-- Just a happy green tree for a good while. "Freedom for Tree-doms!" she cried out that day To rouse trees and men alike Against the terror of the cold steel blade. But not a man, not a tree, rushed to her side So alone she stood to fight her battle. Alas, all she had for missiles were her pretty leaves, Which in vain she hurled with a swing of her boughs To drive the harsh blade from her mighty limbs. Above the forest a little bird watched her struggle end As with flailing boughs she drowned In the sea of green below To lie quiet on the forest floor. On her soft fallen leaves that night Poachers crept while the world slept And bore her away to humming mills In a town far from the birds that wept.
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