Who pauses to pay homage to the trees
buried in a concrete cemetery—
those that were a leafy sanctuary
brought–by civilization–to its knees?
Where were the mourners, when the forests died—
the noble warriors mankind didn’t save?
No flags or flowers placed upon their graves,
no one recited last rites; no one cried.
Departed souls, and we can only mourn
for all the soldiers prematurely downed—
for every tree that fell without a sound
was guardian of a time when we were born.
A house we can rebuild, a bridge, a road—
but trees will leave us rootless when they go.