THE DEATH OF TWO FINE TREES

The trees stood tall in stature, Like a cathedral on the lawn. Many years they had stood there Long before I was born. The rain came down that fateful morning, Like tears from heaven above. They stood there in their innocence; The home of owl and dove. Woodman, woodman, spare that tree, Touch not a single bough! In youth, for it did comfort me, I should protect it now. They came with saws and shredders, To execute their dreadful act, Within two days they had done it, Sawn for logs then stacked. The stumps still show the spot Where once stood two fine trees, Grotesque the sight that shows the sin. I sank down to my knees. The world is sad without them, The atrocity has been done, No more the soft, quiet rustle, Of the leaves in gentle sun. The rain came down like tears From the heavens high above, In homage for those lovely trees That I — for one — did love. Peter Wilkes, Walsall, W. Mids.