The Trees Must Go

The trees must go, they said, to bring a view Of distant mountains to the hilltop’s brow. First one by one they fell, then two by two. Though that was years ago, I see them now Swaying against a startled patch of sky, In long green sighs going down upon the earth, Shaking the sunlight from their leaves, the cry Of sparrows that woke the morning with their mirth. The view is nice, they say; it reaches clear Across the valley and brings the mountains near And the young breath of spring lifts cool and clean. But when I look beyond the hilltop there, I see a million leaves that might have been, And hear their little thunder, warm and green.