Wounded Trees Poem by Ashwin Alex

I hear my name being called about
guess its my last chance to live about
soon the axe will strike the spot
to leave me wounded once again.

With no soothing wind to blow by,
no climbers upon my trunk
i will be left again to the saw's mercy
waiting to be wounded and wounded again.

Though the axe win or the saw race,
will laugh with each teeth coming by
a million new samplings from my wounded stump
to strengthen my wounded soul.

Once chosen left me wounded
wounded to be healed nevermore-
but evermore i grew to fill the void
again to be wounded once more.

I lay beseaching the axe, the saw,
never tired of woundung again and again,
i give way that i wont
wound the saw, the axe!
coz wound by me willl haunt me,

forgive the wounds,
live for the joy beyond the wounds!