Proudly standing, rigid trees Swaying gently in the breeze We watch the shadows fall Switches whip, the twigs are severed Yet the mighty wood persevers Awaiting its next call Day becomes night; sunshine ends Branches soon begin to bend Raw bark peels in strips. Autumn comes; the trees must fight For each burning speck of light Drudged from unwilling lips. We watch them quiver in the breeze The axe-man comes to fell the trees The thinnest shall go first. Year by year, the seasons change We ignore the passing strange Stiff bodies, in one hearse. No one knows if it shall end The loss of foe, alike with friend Means sunlight for the living. “What shall happen to them all?” Still we watch the shadows fall A gift that keeps on giving.