She's stripped off of her jewel,
Her roots burnt- Her cries; petrified,
She gives life and we take too much.
Her gifts; unfurled and pain implied,
Her house; deprived and she as a house-
Perished.
And then we wonder,
Why the winters are colder?
Why the summers are hellish?
When the protectors of it are
Vanquished.
Even in death- they're pillars,
The pillars of our homes
But who will come forth to save?
The pillars of Blood and Bones.
When the pillars themselves are turned into
Logs of red, saffron and brown.
It took her years to grow-
Years to put on her green gown.
While it took us minutes and hours to cut her down,
No time to bid goodbye, No time to weep,
Broken down by a tormented painful sweep.