They're Gone

The trees are gone,
Cut down.
All that's left
Are piles of
Freshly cut thick trunks
And tangles of limbs.
Branches lay scattered
Like funeral wreaths.

For a hundred years,
Maybe more, maybe less;
The trees stood
So majestically.
Now they're gone
And my tears
Fall for the trees.

I weep for
Beauty and majesty
My children will
Not enjoy.
I pray for their future
And for their land
And that they will
Be better stewards
Than their generations before.