Down the Avenue, healing old like new
Two rows of trees long kept vigils true
Bursting greens at summer's heaviest height
And spindly sentinels each wintry night
But what consent engendered cruel
Gardeners wielding disfiguring tools
Arms whose sunlit rainwater catch
Excised from bodies by saw and scratch
What saber arch with glories ringed
Of deflowered stumps they harshly sing
And once the graceful shade they gave
Now frozen fingers reaching from the grave.
@nepion_boreas17
