Tree

I don't know your story - 
who ever could?
all that I know is
you're more than just wood.

You sheltered bees
in a world where they're dying.
Now for your crime,
you're sentenced; I'm crying.

Cockatoos and galahs
shrieked - it seemed in dismay
at your pruning; but now this:
what will they say?

The hive hollowed you out
so in spite of your shade,
your sequestration

of CO₂ someone made,

what you give to the birds,

what you give to the bees,

you're being cut down

in the City-Bush squeeze.

They say not only might you

drop a limb on someone,

but you're in the way

of the badge, car and gun.

Constable Care, it seems,

needs more space,

and a driveway, a heat sink,

is taking your place.

I grieve at your falling,

mourn I could not stop it,

add my voice to those calling

A tree! Do not chop it!