The branches dip, and thinning boughs sag
No burden weighs heavy upon them, but yet
They pull away from the vaulted sky
Flowers beneath them, far smaller
Far fewer and more delicate
Reach their meagre petals towards the sun
Their ceiling is weeping, now
Sunlight seeping through open fingers
Like ribbons of precious gold
Who can tell, why the magnificent giants
Their trunks hollow, set within rotting foundations
Refuse to advise their own survival
And who can say to them, much older
Much wiser in the ways of the world
That they do not see what has always been
The tragedies of nature, its true losses
Are the cold knots of dead wood, left behind-
The trees who could not know safety
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