They Cut Down The Damson Tree


I keep postponing

Writing the poem

More an obituary

Truth is my heart sinks

Each time I come across

One of its fruits

Still lying in some corner of the garden

Haven’t been able…yet

Write of how

I will miss the snow of its blossom

In the height of spring

Write about the guilt

Although it was not up to me

Tree wasn’t mine

Only the shade that came from him

Birds have not been back since

The devastating vast event

A solitary dove hops about

Like my soul wandering

Where her home is gone

It’s no coincidence

That since that day

Of motors, of noise from hell

The Sawing, cutting, killing

Of the giant who protected my garden,

Pandora’s box burst open

Hope must still be in there




Popular posts from this blog


My English has sharp Ts like espinas de nopal

Anatomía de un Extasis