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The Unheard Sound
Seeing the tree, not the forest...
See it standing there
Stacked up like the fresh cut slices of a great sperm whale,
Waiting to yield up its light and heat to a wasteful world.
It too had felt the flow of another sea along its sides,
And delighted in the races it had won over its own kind.
Others had delighted in it, too, before the harvester's blade
Had severed its last crucial vein,
And struck it down from its lofty realm.
It had been a source of delight to the passerby
And an old friend to its human neighbor,
A supporter of sorts to those of its own kind.
One might almost say it was a landmark
Of the past and present,
Each year rich and lean in its turn.
Now it must vanish as if it never was,
Save for its likeness to a dead man's beard
Which shows its stubble of expected growth,
But cannot long remain.
Oh who are you, struck down so soon
To serve a vain Man's vanity ?
Has he no mercy for your object of his brutal joke
That there is no sound
Where there is no human ear to hear?
Surely your neighbors hear their own death knell
In your untimely fall.