You butchered us
along the stone wall
we now stand
flagrant, desolate.
Exposed we’re vulnerable
to October rain,
cleansing air, a clearing
for the sun
the rays poke through
gaps under the rainbow.
War veterans with missing limbs,
our symmetry askew,
never to align again.
Our foliage hangs,
depleted
embarrassed.
Branches hacked
and splintered,
congealed
sap in odourless blobs,
our roots retract in disgust
at the clumsy oaf,
his arms swinging with the bowsaw
aping descendants
desperate for an improved vista.

– Lorraine Carey