“A tree which has lost its head will never recover it again,
and will survive only as a monument of the ignorance
and folly of its tormentor.” ― George William Curtis
I remember when the first men came
Taking what they needed from the forest
Vestiges of a balance long extinct.
I remember when the next men came
Viscid sap and cracked branches
Etching their names into my memory.
I remember when those men came back
Hatchets in the hands that once held penknives
Actions practiced and deliberate.
I remember as they stripped me
The cold taste of Copper Naphthenate
The blistering heat of the sawblade.
I remember being split and splintered
Joints locked with iron spikes
Paralyzed and beaten on the cracked earth.
I remember every wail of warning
Creaking with each step that met me
Begging any end to the destruction.
I remember as my admonitions were ignored
As the cities sank, and the fields burned.
You should have listened to the trees.