As they carve at our tall rotting maple
I stand outside to watch the old tree die.
One tree cutter said that a felled tree
Gives off its essence and an aura lingers.
As branches fall, a sapling grove springs up,
Light blooms green, air so pungent
With core wood I feel more alive;
And though the tree is nearly down,
I look up it towers above the pines,
Ragged crown of blue and silver leaves
Before darkness covers my tree of light.