We stood here drenched in history surrounded by our kin. Our feet so deep among the layers of time, our canopy a constellation. We were your lungs.
We were the perches where the blackbird sung, where gossamer sparkled on days of mist. Where you laid beneath our shelter and bathed in emerald light.
We felt you when you tried. When you gathered beneath us and touched our hearts. We wept with you, but man has no use for heart and soul.
Last night they came. The spoils of a one sided battle are all that remain. Yet buds still form on splintered limbs like a sign of hope amongst the chaos.
If we could bleed would you still cut?