By Ken Penaflor, Jr.
Oh how hard could it be,
to remain as a solitary tree,
in a hill where once so lush,
but now left with bare soil and grass
The birds pass as they search,
for a tree to shade and perch,
then fold their wings to rest,
and perhaps decide which branch to nest
She stood there as she gives free home,
her kind was cut, now she is alone,
her crown was spread so wide,
akin to a peerless Queen with pride!
She stood there, steady from the storms that pass,
on her heels; a sea of kneeling grass,
Up here, I knew just what I have seen,
the grasses share the sorrows of their solitary Queen
I hope one day man will come to bring,
the forest back to what was once it has been,
one day I’m also hoping to see,
that the Queen is no longer a solitary tree.