Falling Oak

Falling Oak

          -Joy S. Barefoot

I felt a sadness

at the falling

of the oak;

the persistent growling

of the saw;

hammer ringing

at the wedge;

wrench grinding

against

a great force.

I felt a sadness

at that creaking groan

ripping

at its fibers

and the trembling earth

beneath its fall.

I felt a sadness

at that fresh cut

ring of years,

left to grieve its loss;

a sort of euthenasia,

laying down

to still the worms

ingesting

red oak heart . . . .