An Elegy for an Oak

A king lies dead, the forest floor his bed,

sliced through by men holding crocodile teeth.

His green and familiar leaves have been shed.

It’s time for all of us to lay a wreath.

Decks of naval ships were made from his oak.

A fleeing prince once hid within his crown.

The wood from trees like these was used to cloak

the walls of Britain’s halls of great renown.

Replaced by straight lines of uniform pines,

forming avenues and sharp right angles.

This pattern is the one which undermines

nature’s own ancient forest of tangles.

This was a giant; we climbed his shoulders.

In the forest his legacy smoulders.