Christmas Trees (A Tree Still Stands)

A bare lot there stands
That used to be forested in fir balsams
Yonder past the glen,  
Where chicadee nests rustle softly
Behind which place, flying they now land.
 
Yellow stumps now where felled  
With much commotion to even birds
Their winter chirps had been overheard by
Men in flannel shirts and leather gloves,
Raining sawdust as they worked.
 
I saw a man the other day
With woodchips on his clothes and in his beard
Heading down from behind the hill
His eyes twinkling, greeting hello.
Then I heard a truck's roar;
A man give a sort of shout.
 
I thought they had been foraging for  
Deadwood for their stove piles;
I drifted off thereafter, not thinking or
Knowing of any sort of guile.
 
It was a lot, no-one seemed to own
Or visit much but for the trails.
Footsteps snaked around the trees in
Trodden paths that were shouldered in leaves.
Chipmunks had many a hidden burrow there
Adjacent to rocks where the soil was bare.
 
I had ventured many times along the path  
Meandering and long though a lot not more
Than an acre in size seemed something of an
Exercize to walk around each tree that had
Scraped and tugged my shirt as I went,
Twisting as branches bent.
 
Now, viewing I saw clear across to what  
Lie far beyond: The neighbors patch and his farm.
So visible was he now from the main road.
I saw the eaves of his house clearly as well as
The barn, I even saw his chickens pecking about.
I suppose we could become better friends now.
 
I could even phone him to chat of his affairs
From what I could now see of them.
We could reminisc a little of what had once stood
Between us and remark of the smell of felled pines
And the phone operator would even be amused to
Hear of this, fine lady!
 
It felt so odd, this beeline I could make
One straight and even step at a time over stumps
And towards an iron gate.  The man over there
Shot me a perplexed look as if I had done this
With my only axe! I felt dallied by such a thought.
 
Then I saw it, one last tree unremoved, unharvested
It would seem.  Uneven it was and sparse of boughs,
Barely fit for decorations - Then I understood the riddle:
Christmas Trees !!! They were taken wholly off their feet
For profits sake and worthwhile to some city folk
Un-versed in country ways:  If something isn’t yours to take,
There it should rightly stay!
 
I gave a quick wave to my ‘new’ neighbor on his field,
A short ‘ello recieved back and quickly back to baling his yield.
We both knew, I think what, or whom had been afoot here
For the tree that still stood told a tall story that would
Never make sense to us Country Folk, but
Change our habits it surely could.
A farm for trees I surmised, would in the future be wise.
 
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