Seeing the Wood from the Trees

Poem: Seeing the wood from the trees

Standing both alone and in groves the world rustles carelessly through their boughs, as into the depths roots inquisitively sink, and time is recorded ring after ring.

But what happened to create this surmise Of a world where a tree is worth more dead than alive?

How can it be? Such is our demise when together we breathe and on trees we rely.