Poem: Maple
The strident scream of the chainsaw
Piercing the silent grayness of the late
December afternoon.
The friendly maple near death-aged and dry
Now being dismembered.
Once strong and resilient,
Broad leaves giving cooling shade from summer’s heat.
Hiding place for a kid’s first kiss.
Strength to hold a rope with a tire — joy and laughter swinging all day!
Able to bend with the strongest gusts
The inevitable passage of time — no longer able to
withstand the wind and the snow.
Too old.
What’s left to do?
Keeping folks warm and toasty.