(a villanelle)
The conifers spoke to the deciduous trees
Deep in the cool, ancient wood.
“Wish,” they whispered, “they were a gentler species.”
Honey locusts and maples nodded their leaves,
Mulberries and oaks, as well, understood.
The conifers spoke to the deciduous trees:
“Shall nature stand by as they do as they please?”
“We know,” wept the Willow sisters, both so good,
“We wish,” they whimpered, “they were a gentler species.”
“They make our home an abattoir of sleaze,
“stripping from lasses, at best, their girlhood,”
Cried indignant yule firs to the deciduous trees.
A rare living elm, who withstood Dutch disease,
Called a forest meeting; all attended who could.
“No more passive wishing they were a gentler species.”
No surprise, then, when swarms of wasps and of bees
Attacked and killed each one of these hoods.
The conifers chuckled to the deciduous trees,
“Bet they wished,” they whispered, “they’d been a gentler species.”
