IT'S CALLED PROGRESS
The tree stood in the middle of the garden
under it's cool canopy,
the young couple pledged their hearts
each to the other forever
the years passed,their family grew
children played under the canopied shade
little girls with their dainty tea parties,
the boys built a tree house with a sign
posted below that said "Keep Out"
The years passed and grandchildren
played under it's spreading canopy
a bench built round it's twisted feet
so the old couple could sit and read
their backs resting against it's sturdy trunk
the tree was happy and grew complacent
then the old couple stopped coming
and a memorial service was held
under it's aging, spreading bower
the children and grandchildren moved away
and the big house fell into decay
the old tree stood alone and lonely
sighing in the restless, changing wind
the only visitors were couples or teens
seeking privacy to steal a kiss or more
the curling, gnarled bark felt many a knife
It's skin tattooed with proclamations of love
then came a day, hot and noisy
with the big machines all around
a violent tremor shook it to it's roots
as the sting of an axe
it's hard, sharp, blade
bit into it again and again
until it split it's heart, a loud crack
with a shuddering groan it stood no more
It's called progress..
Janice Kuykendall
April 10, 2012
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