Complicity: The Double Bind

There was a tree with branches green

That gave shade on a sunny day;

A place where birds could perch and sing;

And in whose shadow children played.

Its leaves would bask in heaven’s ray.

Its roots would drink of waters deep.

In summer breezes it would sway

But windblown soil it would keep.

One day I had them cut it down,

Then grind it into sawdust fine,

Then pour in chemicals to drown,

Pressed to square shapes by straight design.

I stabbed it with my inky pen

So glad the tree had done its duty

Becoming paper in the end

To write a poem: a thing of beauty.