Tears of the Forest
The trees remember what the axe forgets.
The mirth of lovers romping on the loam.
The light that filtered through in golden nets,
and beasts that roamed for shelter in the gloam.
A broken branch still weeps for a birdsong.
Its tears of sap, the proof of unseen scars,
that cling to echoes hoping to prolong,
a splintered life among the fallen stars.
The oak that watched the centuries pass by,
now chopped in grief no landscape should endure.
The magpies’ songs sound as a craving cry.
Yet, their sad thrill affords a scant succour.
The chainsaws wailed the way sad mothers moaned.
while sawdust stacked up high like guilt disowned.
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