Forest's Hymn

Ripples follow far-off rumbles,
Throughout the trees laudatory leaves.
Branches bent to be humbled,
Dust kicked up by breathless breeze.

A cry follows the fluent creeks,
Rust red runs down its banks.
As bird’s tune turns weak,
In the symphony of marching ranks.

Silent ferns wave a salutation,
To ward off the devil’s hoard.
As Chanterelle clings to devastation.
Clings to Its pine, begging the Lord.

Dogwoods, crossvines, elderberry,
Watch Abram’s sons and daughters,
Zinnia, Willowoak, Black Cherry,
Watch their kindle kin be slaughtered.

 Smoke slowly hazes Jacob’s ladder,
Cloudy eyes and clogged throats.
Guns growl and cannons clatter.
Flesh floods the forest’s moat.

Deers, bears, go to flee,
Shot down in shameless gore.
I call out, a dying plea.
Banging against a closed door.

Prickly Pear, Redbud, Red Cedar,
Curse their lofty, lovely maker,
For making Abraham's descendants so eager,
To destroy what took years of favor.

A lonely wind howls now,
Hollow against haunted giants.
Head in the dirt, down to bow,
Stripped of its last restraint.

A swift wave they leave to yearn,
To go on to their blood and bone.
Forgetting they must return,
To the same earth they’ve blown.