You Say You Want to Know Me
Look at the dead spruce, towering
above all its leafed-out neighbors,
a favorite perch for crows and ravens.
Gray, naked, limbs all bent toward
ground that no longer feeds it; branches
drilled by flickers and woodpeckers;
insect-rich; gymnasium for squirrel
acrobatics; choir loft of sparrows;
history written, hidden in its tall trunk;
rough bark peeling away in chunks.
It will stand another year or two, then
fall to the arborist's saw to make way
for a new house, a tamer habitat
for humans, masonry and planned
plantings. Soon it will be remembered
by no one at all; not the crows or ravens;
not the woodpeckers or flickers; not
the sparrows or squirrels, and one day
not even by me.
--
~ SB =^..^=
http://www.sbpoet.com
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