Silent Cries

The ore-gold sun hugs me,
Under my Oak tree,
The shadows of leaves waltz over the pages of my book 
To the wind's harmonious tunes,
Each in step sequence,
Each leaf ornately designed,
In coats more fabulous than any tailor can craft,
How many hues of green do I witness? 

My fingerprint is ingrained in its stump,
My skin; its bark - the origami of earthen hue,
My nest of roots sculpted by Moore,
The lichen freckles my brown arms,

It is on life support yet it supports life,
But when the pearl in the Euxine sea floats above me,
With the wooden handle of an axe, it is amputated,
Its anchors uprooted, 
Giving nothing more than a mere sigh,
The cracked sap; its silent cries.