I was lying on the grass today, staring at the huge woodpile at the end of the garden, and I wondered what Mom was planning to do with it all.
I watched the tree guys working
And the wood pile getting higher.
And thought it would be such a shame
To burn it on the fire.
It took so long to make the wood,
That tree had grown for years
All that effort growing leaves
Then shedding them, like tears.
It slept through every winter
And woke up every spring
It triumphed in the summer
So what a shame to burn that wood
That took so long to grow,
To let it all go up in smoke
With nothing left to show.
I think Mom should keep some of the logs, and make something out of them, something which will last.
Because although the tree will grow back in a few years, it would be nice to have a reminder of the day the tree came down.
Maybe planters? Or a bench? What do you think?