“Here an old oak lies”

I go to the forest
To hear leaves fall,
Instead I hear
Chainsaws,
And know
A genocide
Has come to pass.
Mountain huts
Kindle their
smokestacks,
The streams
Run with sap.
Stumps
Of nameless
Giants have
No epitaphs:
“Here an old
oak lies.”

Reviews

[barleygirl]

I've been on an oak/acorn bender lately & your poem scratches that itch for me. Here in California we are pretty protective of our old trees, especially redwoods. But I'll never forget driving thru clear-cut forests in Oregon & Washington many years ago. It's truly like death & genocide, as you say. There is no exaggeration here, as far as how yukky it feels to see greedy destruction! Thanks for giving the trees a voice (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Maxwell Ryder]

It’s my pleasure. They need out support, because they do so much to support life on this planet. Thank you!

[Mrudula Rani]

Your beautiful poem says so much about your love of nature. It is absolutely beautiful.

[Maxwell Ryder]

Awwwww. Thank you so much. Glad you liked it!! How are you?

[Mrudula Rani]

Iam fine, thank you. Hope you are keeping well.