On felling trees

by poetrydiary

There was a fir tree this morning,
beside the drive.
Now there is a new horizon.

That tree came home for Christmas
in nineteen ninety eight.
A triumph of domesticity;
surviving planting out,
children and twelve summers,
until it blocked the light
and had to go
despite a fight.

Felling trees is always sad,
I find – their slow joy of growth,
and patient presence;
stillness and solid love of earth,
roots us all as one,
and tames the sun.

So shame on the axeman.
You have much to learn:
let houses move instead.

© Matthew Rhodes 2011