Under The Tree Poem by john coldwell

Beaten to death and worse
For the pittance she had in her purse
An elderly lady lay preacher
Who opened her door to this creature

The news came to us by phone
I went into the garden alone
Under the stark arms of a tree
Too angry to get down on my knee

I said, 'This is terrrible God! '
It wasn't a question, But He answered me
'Yes it is terrible,
and it's happening everywhere, constantly,
This one is close to you,
They are all close to me
So now you know how I feel'

What can we do God?
How can it be stopped?
I was still looking up at the tree
At the stark arms stretched out on the Tree