When I Was A Birch Tree Poem by Richard Provencher

I scaled the side
of the highest hill
holding fast with roots

a standout in a sea of green -
from spruce to willow
and poplar to a few scattered
cedar - - I was more than
a fist with iron in
my demeanor -
a moose in the forest.

Then someone came and cut
me down - - in the mirror of their
weakness. A hiker
cold and alone.
He chopped me in smaller
pieces into kindling. Now I am
a fire ball of warmth.