Life and Death
Life and death and death and life
Gone the elegant mother tree that
Stood so proud and long, giving
The breath of life and receiving the
strangulation of the ivy but living on.
Her leafy arms reached out in loving
Embrace of all who lived in this park
That was not a park because the city
Sold it to developers.
She sheltered the raccoon family,
Hosted nests of birds, Jays and Starlings
and Wrens; she welcomed the black and
gray scampering squirrels, smiled upon
the Robins, watched over generations of
cawing Crows; and she was a most gracious
hostess to we few, we fortunate humans
who live here next door and beyond who
cherish her presence and the presence
of the other trees and shrubs and the green,
green grass that thrives so bountifully
below, along with the cheerful yellow of
the dandelions.
A small army came and hacked her to death.
They cut her off t the waist. What waste!
Now she’s gone, and while the vista has
Opened up incredibly, so has my grief in
Losing her. In some sort of compensation,
The magnolia trees are magnificent this
Year, alike the May Trees, and the Oak.
I weep for you, my old friend. Gone soon, too,
Will be the park, to be mown down in clear
Cut, gouged deeply as a well and built upon
To carry the weight of civilization in a six-
Storey structure that will have no soul.
Gone my daily commune with Nature. Gone
My sunrises, and me left to stare at a close-
Up blank wall—me and my five neighbours
With windows to the East. Somewhere out
There, Christ was born and Man was supposed
To behave…
—H. W. Bryce
Photo by H. W. Bryce
