I saw a tree die in its tranquil sleep / Its passing came as men, with little warning / One dewy, damp morning, bittersweet / These men were clothed like ants in armor, swarming / The yellow bee, a bright sun in the sky, but just a bee / Hovered past the weeds and through the leaves / Around the steadiness of the tree / Coming to duck beneath the eaves / As the trembling, grating, reluctant saw / Groaned nearer, clatters of chestnut chips / Came closer to the smooth-edged maw / And settled to sleep on a sack of sticks / Eternity, then; a CRACK. A rumble. And a fleeting implore / For the oak tree in my yard was now no more.