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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.