Elegy For A Small Tree, Sawed To Death While I Wasn't Looking

oh little tree that seemed gold with grace
even when you were leafless and iced over.
how the little birds chimed in

your branches whenever I looked
from the window down.
how glad I was to see you

in season or out of it,
shimmer ever my very own Christmas
while the birds flew up and down from you

so endlessly weaving
their back and forth symphony, a pattern of
their play through the whole day

and evening, too, when all turned blue.
in shadow and in the chill you were
still merry with a good will

in any breeze.
and when your sticky leafed
greenery tipped out it seemed

the cup of joy tipped over
in the shade of you
and I tripped over your aprils

laughing from the high window
when the little birds sang
and sang and sang so twigged was music then-

and oh, you were just their size
and mine
until the buzz saw's zip and clang;

its cruel surprise
chipping your miracle
breaking the heart of the four winds

despite all your friends who couldn't conspire to save you;
scattered you listless, on the ground.

oh my golden, then the birds flew thronging 
to your Invisibility branching
where the seven sisters shine;

and no mirage.
and fair may you be found- 
planted out of Time-

far,far from the Age
of cutting down.

mary angela douglas 5, 14 february 2016