.
The old Shaman
placed his hands
on the trunk
of an ancient tree
.
fitting his fingers
between the ripples and creases
of the bark,
until he heard a whispering –
.
“Oh, spare me from
the greed of the axe
and the fickle see-saw
of humanity!”
.
But from the distant edge
of the forest
the old Shaman also heard
the growl of a chain-saw
.
and he smelled the exhaust
and the gasoline,
and he heard the shouts
of timbering men
.
and so he bowed his head
and wept,
as a drop of pitch
landed on his cheek.
.
.
(c) 2019 Betty Hayes Albright
.