The Lamenting Oak

An Oak once stood—
Tall and proud—
By the edge of the woods,
Its leaves —
Reaching up for the stars.

Often did it look at its reflection—
Charred bark and
Branches sweeping wide.
It bows it frame,
Gazing wistfully—
At the pine that stood 
By the foot of the hill—

How graceful it looked!
How warm!
"No wonder people brought them 
Into their home!" 
It would say—
How the Oak longed—
To be part of the fun
and festivities!

So it chopped off its branches
Felling them —as it
bled from the wounds
It caused.

But, did it stop?
No.
It reasoned instead—
Kept repeating:
"It will be worth it"—
Over and over again.

It ignored itself—
It's pain—
Ignored its worth—
How loved it was—
A shelter for all—

But one day—
One day
There was nothing left—
All was gone—
Nothing remained—
What once was—
Lay dead.

All of it's—once
Sweeping—branches 
Lay on the earth.
The nesting birds and 
The foraging squirrels—
Rushed away from it.

Only now did it understand—
Its errors—
But now—
Now the time has passed—
What once was—
Will be never again.

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