Stumps

Before the axes came, there were many of us.

We stood tall, but I was the tallest of them all.

We drank the sun; it was warm and refreshing, and tasted of happiness. 

Wildflowers blossomed at our roots, so delicate and small.

A rushing river ran through our forest, winding around us like a ribbon.

The silver moon shone, a peaceful glow of light wrapping around us like a medal.

Koalas lounged around on our branches, chewing on our leaves

While dingoes scurried around, snapping at a Tasmanian devil.

All was good and peaceful, until the terrible men came.

At night, the screams of my comrades still echo in my ears.

The merciless men bore sharp grey bits of metal attached to a wooden stick,

Murdering my friends without a shred of pity; it brings me tears.

Now I’m all alone in a treeless forest,

The koalas have fled; the dingoes have slunk away.

The sun has hidden behind a wall of grey clouds.

Oh, what shall I do to spend my day?

The stumps of my dead friends stare at me,

Sometimes I can hear their curses for those men

And I know all too well that soon I will be a stump too.

But I’m sure I will grow again.