There before the house,
you were condemned for daring
to undermine it.
Cut down bit by bit:
limbs lopped off one at a time,
then your great trunk felled.
I knew of your fate
and so avoided getting
too attached to you.
Even so I still
felt sad at the thought of it.
It didn’t seem right.
On the fateful day
I tried not to watch as you
were cruelly butchered.
But the sound of saws
was inescapably loud
and the pain got through.
After you were gone,
passers by would stop to stare
in sad disbelief.
Then the stump man came
to grind what was left of you
back into the ground.
Like a grave digger,
shovelling the wood shavings
over your remains.
I mourn your passing
and will plant another tree
in honour of you.
I will care for it
and will remember you when
I look upon it.
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