I’m not much of a poetry guy, but my fledgling-poet mom inked some brilliant verse recently.  Inspired by the tree-wrecking drought of 2011, in which Kingwood was hit especially hard, this beautiful poem emerged.   – JT

DOOMED by Patricia Timpanaro

I hoped to live longer

But it was not to be

A woodcutter came by

And put a number on me.


At first I was puzzled

What’s a red number for

I do not like labels

It hurt me to the core.


I admit I’ve gotten thirsty

In the past year’s drought

My future’s in a fireplace

Of this there is no doubt.


I’ve shaded many kids

On their way to school

My large leafy branches

Helped to keep them cool.


Around me a yellow ribbon tied

But I didn’t mind at all

It was in memory of a soldier

So I stood proud and tall.


Squirrels used to tickle me

As they scampered up my sides

Nesting birds’ songs rang out

Praise to the Lord, they cried.


From my highest reaches

Mothers taught their young to fly

I always held my breath

As fledglings soared towards the sky.


At night I often gazed

At the stars and sky above

And thought of how our Lord

Had created us with love.


Now I’m dead and numbered

The greenbelt won’t be the same

I ask you just to remember

Me and my last name.  Tree #95