Naked Tree

leaves that fall copper and bronze to the earth
make music and create beauty
those that are torn from the branch are incoherent
they scream as their veins collapse
they weep as they realise they will never be autumnal

this naked tree is not bare for the winter
she is not a roost for the buzzard and nuthatch
- no, this tree is all but uprooted
the scar on the earth is terrible

gaping wide, exposed to all
and sundry (in all its shapes and sizes),
there are some who try to describe her form as art
others explore utilitarianism, consider
how the branches will be kindling and the trunk so many tables and chairs
- she has not died in vain.

but i weep open-mouthed and ugly
i rage against the injustice
have no patience with the blessed
or with those who bare their own wounds

for this tree was primed for greatness
her branches tended yet wild
the harvest a long sweaty labour
but the fruits so sweet and so plump

I cannot dance round her yet
i will not celebrate what was
i can only caress her memory 
and miss her
and weep.