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Selective Sight

by William Diamond

Some days, I see the dying trees


The forest wavers fragile in the air

Cedars, lodgepole pines, a touch of aspens

Many more than nature’s norm are doomed

Some bark is gone, some branches bare


On those dying days, my soul will creak

Sensing disease and bugs will take them all

Climate will inflame, decay will be acute

And the woodland shifts to barren and bleak


Other days, I note the thriving trees


As they breathe life into the world, my spirits lift

I foresee the forest growing green and dense

As once again the timeless copse adapts

The world rebounds and renews its gift


Too often, I view life with this vision bipolar

Swinging between the grim and the bright

Accepting matters as beyond our control

As though we have no role to take actions sober


On the best days, I decide to act


To play a part, I grab the saw

To fell the dead and mount in stacks

Then plant healthy saplings in their place

So tomorrow's children can enjoy the awe

Bill Diamond is a writer in Evergreen, Colorado where the Rocky Mountains are both an inspiration and distraction.

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June 2019

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