Original Poem: Green is the Rarest Color

The face on the tree is speaking again.

He tells of a world full of sin –

Men with machines that do horrible things

Like destroy what doesn’t fit in.

 

He remembers a time

Long, long ago

When men were good to his people.

He had lots of friends and lived a good life

Until those men turned evil.

 

They came by the hundreds,

The thousands, it seemed

And destroyed all the life they could see.

The ax came down on his sisters and brothers,

Leaving just a stump and a mystery.

 

Now he sits alone is a city park,

On a small patch of grass surrounded by concrete.

The only company he gets is during the summer

When the small, noisy children can’t stand the heat.

 

The face on the tree is a witness

To a crime committed by the keepers of this world.

We’ve done a terrible job, as far as he can see.

He’s the only one left,

But for some reason even he couldn’t stay.

They chopped him down when he got in the way.

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