Missing Them Poem by Francie Lynch

I'm standing where a tree once stood,
It's branches, leaves, and roots weren't good.
Perhaps they used it for a rood,
Down in Alabama,
Where skies are lit with flames,
And chants are raised to holy names,
As though they understood.

In the park, an empty swing
Is twisted by a changing wind;
I cannot hear the children sing
Of lambs gone to market.

In the class an empty desk
Draws one's eyes to stare and rest
On a sharpened pencil
That scribbled names in regret,
The names of those we'll soon forget
For they have gone to market.

What was here
Now is missing,
It's as if no one's listening;
And it began with our christening;
Like a ship, our world is listing.

That's what they'll say of me:
'He stood once like a tree.'