Woodlander

poetry

Like trees left to their own devices
we grow until we run out of sun
and water

Unlike our leafy brothers, we
can kick and flail when the others come
to cut us down

Some are cut nonetheless
and sawn and made to boards
that are made to hold up
the others’ works.

Some cut back,
like me.

I am like a tree
with a chainsaw and a memory.

2 thoughts on “Woodlander

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