
There once was here, a copse of trees,
a living, breathing canopy.
Its roots held firm from year to year,
it fed the birds it housed the bees
and sweetened air for us to breathe.
A copse of trees, there once was here.
It couldn’t run, could not escape
from all the pillage and the rape.
Its roots were useless ‘gainst the blunt
attacking of a brutal state,
and once destruction had begun,
could not escape, it couldn’t run.
Maybe there’s hope? Perhaps I’m wrong,
the birds may yet rejoice in song.
Compassion yet may be awoke,
respect for life both weak and strong –
the fragile wren, the mighty oak.
Perhaps I’m wrong. Maybe there’s hope?
I am linking this to d’Verse Poets where Grace has introduced us to the Sparrowlet. Visit the post for more details about this intricate form. (https://dversepoets.com/2022/02/24/poetry-form-sparrowlet/).