the death of a silvery blue spruce
they rolled into the cul-de-sac
on a cold and lifeless monday morning
equipped with trucks and chains
saws and chippers and ropes
called upon to put to an end
what seemed to be an eternal bond
in her glory days she stood
taller than a timeless story
beckoning christmastime carolers
on the longest of nights
lifting the spirits of the dead
lighting the neighborhood in primary colors
bursting from within teardrop shaped bulbs
I loved her now like I loved her then
her indiscriminate arms
folding and weeping
forever welcoming weary souls
needing a winter place to call home
Note: this poem prompted by Poetics: Secrets of the Universe via dVerse Pub
december two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
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