Its often bereavement, not death, that we find so tragic

 

In memory of those lost. 

It's easy to overlook

The fruit-giving tree,

Its life-saving shade,

And its gifts ever free.

It stands so resolute

Seldom swaying in the wind

The soil thanks the root

And other creatures, it's skin.

Yet on any other fine day,

When you lay atop leaves

So selflessly shed

From the very fibre of its being,

It's effortless to gaze

Far up at the sky

Miss something so close

to the distracted eye

And feel self-effacing

Wonder and dread

At the vastness of the canopy

That veils the carpetspread

Yet there comes a day

When the tree no longer stands

When the elements may claim it

Or a multitude of hands

The sun in scorching glory

May look out and find

No valorous resistance

To thwart its light that blinds

And on that sweltering day

Some memory is shared

Of a refuge that's disappeare

That no longer remains

Perhaps an old timer

May say as he finally sees:

How easy it is to overlook

The fruit-giving tree