Last summer, the old man, who owned these trees
was sitting on his riding lawnmower.
He watched as his trees were all cut away
by a tree-removal company.

I asked him what was wrong with his beautiful trees,
were they ill, or sick, or beset with evil maggots
perhaps, or something I had never heard of.
He said it was even worse than that:

“They make such a mess when their leaves fall off

every year in the fall and I have to clean up that crap.”

Now it's the following spring, and the weeds and the grass and I gather

to share our sad memories together.