A Tree Destroyed, So We Could Write

A Tree Destroyed, So We Could Write

Once it stood, roots deep in time,

whispering secrets in the wind’s soft rhyme.

Its arms held birds, its shade gave rest,

its golden leaves, the sun’s bequest.

Then came the blade, the sharpened will,

stripping bark, the sap ran still.

A life exchanged for ink and page,

a silent loss in letters caged.

From fallen veins, a poet’s scroll,

words take shape—but at what toll?

For every verse that we recite,

a tree destroyed, so we could write.