Mourning A Tree
They hacked up my tree yesterday. Sliced off his branches, scattered his leaves Now as I sit by the window No curtain of foliage covers me. It took years to stretch out his branches To touch my sill with his green But he has been clipped, defrauded The rugged trunk stands patiently Touched by my care, perhaps, Enduring the pain, the shame of the culling. As I mourn the butchery, A blue magpie alights on the splintered scars Orange beak and curved tail flick about Swaying amid the survivor leaves As if to say he still lives Even I can roost in the wreckage And bless the stumps to rise again.