Strange feeling, standing next to this felled tree,

A victim of a violent assault.

Not long ago, these leaves were vigorous

In the reflection of a sparkling sun.

Green dominated, but entertainments

Of all shapes and styles delighted this Earth.

Now brown and shrivelled, they slip existence,

As they accompany their own decline.

We know that feeling too. The lynched bodies,

Helpless, like the leaves, in dusk’s aftermath,

Are left to come to terms with rancid rot.

Today, a tree. Tomorrow, a soldier.

The characters are different, certainly;

The end, and its preparation, the same.