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When a tree is taken down

we grieve its silhouette collapsing

from a stricken sky.

It leaves a phantom

in the corner

of our eye,

the shadow

of a stolen trunk,

the staunching of osmosis.

We dampen earth

with our diluted tears

scattering seeds

among the fettered roots.

And if we listen carefully

we’ll hear the song of Gaia –

a forestation aria

of green that fills

the empty valley

after we are gone.

 .

©  2012, 2016  Betty Hayes Albright 

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(Revision of an older poem)

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