The Elm

I pass my hand across your moist, wide body
Smoothing off the chips left by the saw,
And count the rings that mark the springs you stood here
And cast your branches over smaller trees.

Those rings say you were here some time before me
What stories they might tell if they could speak!
I strive to pull some meaning from their color
And width, and from the ground in which you stood.

You were more beautiful than all your cousins
Who cowered on the edges of the wood
You stood out in the open - arms unfettered
To embrace the dome of sky which you adored.

Those graceful arms all waving in the sunshine
Had sheltered many a bird. I saw one when
We cut you down (feeling that we were evil.)
It flew off with a startled cry of fear.

Oh progress! Why are your dictates such harsh ones?
This tree was far more beautiful than I,
Because it had no fears and no pretensions.
And we betrayed that sweet trust in the world.