Home, Backyard, July 2011

Where the tree used to be
Is a cricle of brown dirt
Easy enough to see,
There, in the middle of the green
Lawn, now absent of shade,
Squirrels gone, as well the haven
For birds, the old sick tree made...

Where the tree stood
The grass does not grow,
But the breeze flows freely,
And I wonder if they know,
The birds, who now wing across
Where the tree used to be,
Of its absence, of our backyard loss...