Member Poem

Rooted in the yard across the road,
    it bore the chickadees,
    bowed from a blizzard’s load,
stood up in April, quickening the breeze,

gave chipmunks and gray squirrels nuts to chew,
    persuaded kids to climb,
    gave shade when hot winds blew.
Who ruled it’s time to break it in its prime?

Who judged the ancient tree a monstrous pest
    we must eradicate?
    So what if orioles nest
amid its branches straggling in a great

and solemn shock? I’ve never seen it cower
    from hurricane or squall.
    Yet now, in a mere hour,
mad, slashing, snarling fangs will make it fall,

indifferent to the katydid, opossum,
    the sparrow, butterfly,
    or cricket when they toss ’em
away — to fly, to scamper off, or die.

(Appeared in Autumn Sky Poetry Daily.)