Tree Poems: 8/25
Nature, Tree

The Cutter

© Tshaka E. Curtis

The feelings of a tree as it learns to accept its purpose in the world.

Listen to the Poem

Every day of every week comes the trees.
One foe that they see makes them scream: Don’t cut me!
The cutter comes with no care,
For he does not hear the screams that fill the air.
Down a small hill covered with dew,
Being watched by trees that know what he’ll do.
Finding a tree on the river bank,
He marks with an x the next life he will take.
He marks me with an x and hits me with an ax.
It vexes me to know that everyone is relaxed.
I am hit again.
I pray I will go to heaven.
I cry tears of sap as he takes me down.
If only he could see a tree frown.
He lays me and ties me tightly on a rack,
And again he begins to hack.
No longer do I feel pain, anguish or sorrow.
For I know I will be a chair tomorrow.
Roots gone and branches on the floor,
I am a tree no more.

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Rating: 4 - 57 votes
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