Once my bark, reflected beauty,
smooth, strong and pretty.
Pride felt, standing in my meadow,
providing food, shade for many a fellow.
My branches, a home to countless lives,
birds build nests and thrive.
Now ugly and scarred, as you can see,
slowly dying, deep inside.
On to my being, egos branded,
why people feel the need, let’s be candid.
They can’t just look upon my existence,
admiring my purpose from a distance.
With assault complete, they leave,
a piece of my soul, bereaved.
By Sheila: September 9, 2013