THE OLD CYPRESS TREE
Hardy, sturdy, picturesque,
The revered, old Cypress tree
Had stood for many years,
On its knoll beside the sea.
A focal point for cameras,
A subject for a brush,
A theme for poet's words,
A stirring stimulus.
A lone sentry in position,
With pride in all its limbs,
Tenacious and strong, the tree hung on
Through pounding rains and winds.
The old Cypress was a symbol
To folks along the coast,
Of stability and constancy,
Both good reasons to boast.
The birds flying around were happy
To know how secure their nests,
Each Spring they returned and rebuilt,
They loved that old tree the best.
Beneath its network of tangled roots
Burrowed squirrels and wee creeping things,
Protected, contented, and snug-as-bugs,
And living there like kings.
No tree had been so admired,
Or been as respected as this,
Each generation laid claim to the tree,
And, with pride, declared ownership.
Nothing disturbed the old landmark,
No matter how hard nature tried,
Hurricanes, cyclones, or twisters,
The tree met each and survived.
But one day at its treasured site,
Came heavy-duty equipment,
Bulldozers, saws, and crews of men,
With signs that read, "DEVELOPMENT."
Within the hour, the tree was gone!
This creation perfected through time,
That nature's fury could only enhance,
Or possibly make more divine.
The unsworn enemy of nature,
The silent foe of mankind,
Is poor, foolish man himself,
An aberration from God's design.
New photos, new paintings,
New poetry ... gone.
New music, new stories ...
Each done and moved on.
When the old Cypress tree left,
A few folks cried,
And God shook His head sadly,
From side to side.
Virginia (Ginny) Ellis
Copyright April 2003 ~ Revised July 2005