The KATE STATION, this tall, unlovely tree
That blocks my bedroom windows (as it ought
If it has been placed for one's privacy),
Though it still sported sickly leaves, a bit.
This afternoon sometime, it snapped right off,
Left five feet standing and twelve gone to shit
Sprawled out across the front lawn, and the trough
That was my day already, deepened. Mom
Reminds me that it could have been much worse:
It fell away from this, my house. I'm calm
E'en as I wonder who runs the tree-hearse
Here in these parts, and also wonder, too,
What made this happen. Wind? It scarcely blew!