on the day the great tree fell
birds laid down in the tall grass
their lament was to be heard all across town
–
they sang of flowers in spring – the blossoms so fragile
like sweet brides’ dresses they swayed
pastel dreams of lovely auguries
–
summer time greens and hot humid night times
like lovers finding their cover under a jade umbrella
to kiss and wait for the downpour never to end
–
red and brown memories of of long foggy walks
of spidery silk with pearly white beads
a ray glides through with golden promises
–
first crystals and snowflakes like silver bells
crunching softly under the squirrels feet
silent – so silent and peaceful as the world sleeps
–
Why did They tear it down?
their tears seem to ask.
and the Earth cries with them
Linda Catherine 
As a young adult, I would wander aimlessly through the bush and become engrossed by the mystique of trees. Their height, their majesty and the families they would support.
I would watch for birds nesting and their resultant chicks (youngn’s as we called them) hatching and squawking.
Just as the chicks were growing, they would be taken by another creature overnight, a somewhat anti-climax to such a wondrous event.
Your poem captures that moment, where things are expired in their prime. A perfect collaboration of splendour and grief.
I am reminded of such events, and I am grateful that at Christmas whilst emotion is high, it is but a brief stop-over on our journey.
Thank you Linda Catherine.B