On Behalf Of The Trees Poem by John Agandin

Hurt not the trees!
The trees! The trees!
Oh hurt not the trees!
These majestic giants,
Robed in green glory;
Thick as thieves,
Meek as mice,
Ancient even as the land.
Silent, calm, dignified.
Shedding their incense
upon a neglected realm.


Long have they stood,
deep in their root,
tall in their reach
massive in their girth
keeping watch over us;
from the blazing sun above,
the blistering earth at our feet,
and the carbonic gas in air.
Come, let us go on our knees
to thank and praise their worth!


Oh, what a sight they make;
What a view to see;
What beauty to admire;
Cheek to cheek,
shoulder to shoulder,
with intertwining boughs
muttering their supplications
over this wretched thoroughfare
that has received naught
but promise upon promise
yet cannot be mended
And now to be without them?


The first shade of welcome
and the last sigh of goodbye
upon this dusty stretch.
Is their death the price we must pay,
For the promises to be fulfilled?
Stop! Listen!
Across the land, the host of heaven cry:
'Hurt not the trees! '
Man, if you are indeed only
a little lower than they,
ought you not to be wise enough?