There's a message
for us, written perhaps
in the shapes
of old elm trees—
who never grew
their limbs so sturdy
intending to harbor families
of starling refugees;
whose uppermost branches
were never conscientious
with regard to the fragility
of a fledgling bee colony;
whose proud trunk
was never so determined
to unburden the squirrel
in her private den of rest.
And yet?
And yet, nevertheless—
