Trees

Rolling

multi- col oured and velveteen

landscapes depict the stage of trees. A majesty to behold.

A splash of gold. A sweep of emerald. Some scarlet patches. Poise

violet tucked in between. As continuous as the colours in the rainbow.

This composes the seasonal landscape. A theatre of peace and calm, sca

ttered aimlessly as cattle. Herding across the fields, beside the lake, be

neath the fluffy clouds. Creatures of nature climb up and nestle on its branches. W

ell hidden from everyone. Miles away. Trees swaying, whispering, rustling, quiv

ering. Surpassing the ages in sprightly dance. Surviving the wind, rain, thundersto

rm. Like soldiers in formation-so proud and handsome. Like arms reaching out embrac

ing the air. For centuries yielding us an abundance of fire, food and joy.

Older than we, memorial tree, mysterious and idolized, callously utilized, b

eg our pardon, ancient trees, for our petty offense. But why must they

be cut down? For trunks, branches and the leaves were cut and spl

it and chopped and defiled into these chips of wood. And now

there are trees no more. Come back to us trees, to

the desolate places, rekindling a world

so soured and seared.

Of ages plunder. B

ring back the wo

nder, the joyful

trees, the gran

deur of trees.

And the whisp

ering forests in

which we were

reared. Trees to

renew and to re

vitalize and clean

se. Cities crowded,

atmosphere deflowe

red. Branches upraised

to admire and to beautify.

Elegant and strong, comp

osing the wind for a song. Bring

back the trees and the world shall not fail.