Fallen tree
There was a tree at the back of my house,
with sprightly branches and leaves of velvet green;
it towered so high into the envious sky
especially in June and July
when the rains put a cob in the loin of the cornstalk;
Sundown and its branches rocked with a harvest of birds
chirping crips serenades
for the parting days.
Then there was a tree, one noon,
a thoughtless matchet hurried
out of its itching sheath:
a few maddening scoops
and towering glory crashed to the muddy earth.
In the evening of that noon
a whitening silence gripped my house:
the birds had flown away.
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