You grew straight, tall, sturdy.
Regal, proud, adorned
with emerald needles
and earth toned cones.
Bathing, basking, beaming
under sunshine or rain
a conifer castle
harboring wild things.
But like the fragrant flower
plucked
to serve as potpourri
was drafted by the loggers ax
a new recruit
stripped, shaved, cloaked
in creosote
a conscripted soul
a proselytized pole
with stiff horizontal arms
splinters for needles
porcelain for cones
at forever duty
and attention
to consumer demand.
But still, at times, a moment
of reprieve
when the birds will roost
to sing or chatter
to the Prince of pines
under a soldier’s skin.
