Simple Tree

The blood of Gaia pulses through the timber
Of the old Oak tree, a vigorous behemoth,
Slumbering in warmth, as zephyrs accompany
Birds in a ballet of high acrobats in the sky.
Young leaf saplings capture sunlight and
Create colorful prisms, a kaleidoscope of
Diamonds in the eyes of an eager child as
He playfully cheers to Grandpa in hopes
To ascend higher and higher into the air,
From the tire swing that droop asunder from
A wilting branch, years of service to children.
This oak tree has lived his verve though
Two world wars, twenty five presidents,
Great Depression, countless assaults of
Nature's fury, volleys of lightning strikes,
Carved on from couples rejoicing love anew,
Sharing their first kiss in a moonlight picnic.
Suddenly was stricken with a horrid disease
That caused it to lose its glossy green.
And eventually the leaves died and caked
The park in dreadful sepia, a crisp silence.
Declared useless by greedy businessmen,
Slashed down by callous axes, enterprises
Built, a martyr of money.
Ironic.