R.I.P. That Big Ol' Tree

Long have we thought it dead, e'er since I bought

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!

In Which I Say Good-Bye To A Tall Old Friend

Taking Down Grandfather Cottonwood, originally uploaded by qatesiurade.

This afternoon, a tree is coming down
Beneath whose boughs my childhood swiftly passed.
I'm sure it's quite as old as my hometown,
This cottonwood. On av'rage these trees last
A hundred years, then die within their hearts
And slowly rot from inside out, then fall.
The neighbor's house would take the hit. So starts
An afternoon's work: best to cut and haul
The tree, in parts, away. Thus, soon, the sky
Above my parents' yard will miss a piece
Of long-accustomed scenery. Good-bye
Grandfather Cottonwood, good neighbor. Cease
This mourning now, though, Kate: there still is shade
Beneath the clones and saplings that he made