The tree did not shout
In its glorious fall
It crumbled, so brittle, whispering
“I will not shout at all”
The tree, 400 feet
Was a myth in a magazine
It ascended to the heavens
Before it met the logging team
And in its thousands of leaves,
Lay birds and mammals of all kinds
The bugs and life shrieked,
“You are way out of line”

But the tree’s many branches
Hushed their quivering worries
It closed its eyes slowly
“This is the end of our story”

The tree once towered
With a vast peripheral view
Of ant-sized plants
And ant-sized you
Tiny, mini people shouted from below
Barked at the bark, clawing
With hope to build elegance
But instead found they were gnawing

Because the tree was a beauty
The tree aged, infinite
The tree radiated no anger or malice
And the tree died, indifferent
The tallest of them all
It out-bigged Big Ben
But all the people saw
Was a civilization’s Godsend

Humanity has always attempted
To compress what it sees
Orchestras became iPods; libraries, Google
But trees are still trees
Even the towering giants
Find limits in their name
They were replaced with empty holes
Their tranquility lost in their fame