Stree: The Tree That Died © - Poem by Roann Mendriq
A tree grew tall to touch the sky
roots grew deep to feel the earth;
And though her branches seemed to fly,
heart was glad at home and hearth.
Home was where her soul was planted,
in the jungle glade she thrived;
All her prayers were heard and granted,
For centuries she survived.
Her name was Stree and proud she stood,
Queen bedecked in glowing green;
Richly armed with strong, fragrant wood,
Her face was lined but sweet serene..
'We'll build a road and cut the trees! '
Monsters howled in manic screech;
Stree trembled in the evening breeze,
hoped she was beyond his reach.
The loggers thundered close and near,
Stree began to tremble, weep,
Her soul was rent with anguish, fear,
while the world was fast asleep...
Asleep and oblivious to her plight,
foolish world spun blindly on;
In stark daylight, it was dark night,
no hope nor promise of dawn...
And as the trees were felled and killed,
earth grew black and cold with tar;
Stree's dreams went dark and unfulfilled,
Her weeping soul reached a star..
Her leaves began to slowly fall
fast, as if they could not stop;
Each leaf echoed her keening call,
shaped into a perfect teardrop...
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