A Tree
By John Herlihy

A tree once grew there,
Eternally, with time to spare,
Standing majestic, dreamlike,
In the light of the moon, ghostlike,
Innocent in nature, childlike,
At ease and in peace, homelike.
Arms reaching outward and upward,
Pulling heaven down into its sight.
dare not imagine a presence more noble,
A world unto itself, universal, global.
Centuries have passed,
Under the watch of its gaze,
Bathing in Nature’s goodness,
In the light of the sun’s rays.
Morning dew sprinkle its leaves,
Leaving behind tears of one who greaves.
Twilight rain drench its branches,
Water dripping down to its haunches.
Its roots search deep in firm ground,
Deep down where no light is found.

That tree once flourishing,
Standing like a prayer,
That tree always nourishing,
Now no longer there.
Centuries have gone by,
But the tree continued to ply,
In a pact with the mystery of time,
Appearing solitary, sublime.
That tree has vanished,
Just as centuries have disappeared;
Gone forever with the wind,
At the hands of sinners who sinned.
Idle hands have broken its back,
With the lethal thumping of an ax.
The tree made no sound,
Like a wild animal in a trap.
Its life blood ran out,
In the form of golden sap.
The tree’s life once measured in rings,
Reduced to ashes, a bird without wings,
Living on in hell as sawdust and smoke,
Homeless, childless, dreamless, like a ghost.