Pulling Up the Little Trees
Among the regular lawn weeds
The little trees are easy to spot
Three to five inch woody stems
With an umbrella of familiar-looking leaves
When I pull them from the damp soil
They release more easily than I expect
I note the long tap roots
Each had planned to stay put
But they were born in the wrong spot
Around the AC unit, in the gravel beds
That encircle the house, rooting
Between the boarder planks
It is needful work, to protect the foundation
Of the very house in which I dwell
And yet, how sad to kill something
So young, so full of life and hope
And though these trees are now dead
If we were to pack our bags and go
How soon before the forest returned?
To erase the evidence of our existence?
I find this to be a promising thought
Nature has its own rules, its own goals, and its own vitality. A thought-provoking and feeling poem.
(check spelling of boarder)
Thanks for the error spotting. And the nice words too!
Such great imagery! I have quite a fascination with life sprouting in places it shouldn’t. This poem was right up my alley. Here are some of my favorite lines:
“The little trees are easy to spot”
“With an umbrella of familiar-looking leaves”
“They release more easily than I expect”
“Each had planned to stay put”
“But they were born in the wrong spot”
“Around the AC unit, in the gravel beds”
“It is needful work, to protect the foundation”
“How soon before the forest returned?”
I liked this one the first time I read it an I still like it. It seems specific to your part of the country and your rural setting, but is not explicit about it. Trees here in California usually need some water to get established, except for the live oak, whose little trees get eaten by cattle and mowed down out in the fields so that the species is about ready to die out.
Here in the mountains of West Virginia, everything seems precariously carved out of the wilderness, and the wilderness wants it Back!
It is also strange because the soil layer is so thin here. If you want to plant a tree, you dig down a foot or so and run into rock. Only the indigenous trees like it here.