~eulogy To The Pines~ Poem by Fiona Schwartzinoff

You will be missed.

Your rough red skin peeling
Like the many tourists who enjoyed your shade.
Your prickly carpet, warm and whispering
In the morning’s breathy fade.

Your snaking roots breaking
Through the crackling ground.
The critics called it invasive,
And now you’ve been cut down.

And now they wonder at the empty space,
Your ghost in the park which they must replace.

Your trunks were our living history books,
Our parasols, our home, our friend
Even when, yes, even when
We gave your roots nasty looks.

Invasive pine, foreign tree,
You may be gone, but I’ll see
To it that you will be
In this village and all of the city

Forever missed.
Forever missed.