.
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
.
(Revision of an older poem)
Seasonings 