Lament of the Stricken Ash

I composed this as an entry to the Uley Village Show poetry section.  I wouldn't otherwise have given it such a histrionic title!  I'm pleased to say it came first. 


I stand here still proud until its my turn
For the men to start sawing,  ready to burn
My limbs and my trunk,  to rid the disease
That threatens the life of all us Ash trees. 

I should have grown strong for hundreds of years
If I hadn't succumbed to this worst of my fears, 
Already my leaves have begun to die back
Starved of their nutrients, the life they now lack. 

No longer will ramblers pause under my shade
The chainsaw has plundered this once leafy glade 
It has left a blank space,  a great ugly gash
Where once was a hillside covered with Ash.  

Yet still I have hope,  that the seeds in my keys
Will have spiralled away, caught on the stiff breeze, 
New life may yet grow,  resistant and strong, 
To ensure that the Ash is not absent for long. 


© Copyright 2022. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved  


 

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