A rusty old axe bites and claws at my base,
I splinter and split as I welcome my fate.
But the truth is I am not yet quite ready to fall,
Not ready to leave the strong earth or the gentle sky.
I am not yet tired of the firm embrace of warm soil,
Nor of kisses ghosted across my leaves by the changeable wind.
I have not yet cradled enough nests in my dependable arms,
Nor warmed enough creatures, housed protected in my core.
But I splinter and split and I welcome my fate.
For if my boughs must be brought down to earth from the heavens,
My skyward arms defeated and my roots torn from the ground,
I can only hope my life is enough to satisfy the beast.
I can only pray the sharp axe moves on, leaving my young alive,
Safe in the tender heart of the earth, hidden by the messes of the wind.
If I must die, I hope they may grow tall and proud,
Feel the warm soil anchor their strong roots,
And the changeable wind dance with their leaves.
I hope they cradle many nests in their skyward arms,
And warm many creatures, housed and protected in their core.
If I must die for them to grow and live,
I shall splinter and split and welcome it.
The axe bites and claws and does not stall,
So with a hope and a sigh, I allow myself to fall.