Faye Gibson Poet Lyric

Tree Sorrow

Earth's trees are pruned; men came and left
upon their branches burning scars;
now their arms are piteous stubs
no longer reaching for the stars.
My heart is wounded watching them,
so public is their grief and loss,
their shame exposed, yet mute they stand:
I think of Jesus on the cross.

© 1987, Faye Lanham Gibson

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Ralph Sergi April 11, 2014 at 9:20 AM Hi Faye, nice to know you. I truly admired your metaphoric comparison to Jesus on the cross. Trees that stand for hundreds of years as icons to be compared to the character of antique furniture you have come to love and admire only to be desecrated by an unfeeling few. You expressed it well poetically. My compliments. Faye Gibson April 11, 2014 at 9:21 PM Thank you, Ralph. Appreciate the comment!