You’re not just cutting a tree,
but when you do something comes to get you.

You’re not just denting the divine sensitivity of its heart,
you are killing the color of the planet.

When you pluck the leaves,
you slowly pluck your air.

You’re not just spitting upon the tree’s beaming color that brings us to life,
you are killing you and your people.

The wind is howling on my door.

I yell, “Go away”.

But it just gets louder.

I yell, “No one wants you here”.

But it keeps on penetrating.