The day the apple and the pear become judges.
Perhaps they'll wear the white wig of a British court.
And maybe they'll sway behind a high judicial bench side to side-
like tall pines in a gusting wind.
The oaks, being big and strong might act as bailiffs, wise old elms sit in a jury box to find a verdict, the cottonwoods pursue the prosecution. Cherry mount a spirited defense.
Brought in before them- puny Man.
The cypress calls the session into order. 'You're charged with greed- crimes against Mother Earth! How d'you plead?
A frog, summoned as first witness, croaks before he can finish.
Squirrels stare in at the window, a rabbit or two.
The wily fox perjures himself- again.
The defendant, being small and guilty, quails before the court, cries aloud- pleads non compus mentus, begs for mercy, and fingers the coins he's hidden in his pocket.
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Comments about this poem (THE TRIAL by jack peachum )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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Edgar Allan Poe
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(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
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