Dedicated to my neighbor, who hired a crew to start cutting down his trees at 8-frikken-o’clock in the morning. This is what you get. An ode to an Ent.
The sounds of tree-death
Continue late into the day.
The Ent screams, but no hobbit
Is there
To listen or give succor.
The ringwraiths weep
For their forgotten souls.
As e’en swift drops
Even chains on saws
Soon fall silent.