The property belongs to John now,
a bequest of his dear parent’s will.
It was also his home when he was but a child,
so the frustration of today he couldn’t still.
He gazed sadly at the dark gray Holly Oak,
where he spent fond Summers of days long past,
in the tree house his dad had helped him build,
playing “make-believe” as if it would forever last.
This backyard tree is large, some forty feet tall,
with the canopy width not very far from the same.
But it’s terribly ancient now, untold years old,
and disease and oak moths have laid their claim.
John, in his fifties now, grew up with this Oak,
and refers to it unabashedly as almost a friend.
Even as an adult he greatly admired it’s smooth bark,
and each Summer, on yellow flowers and acorns depend.
But on this day John knew he had no choice,
and picked up the phone to call a tree service.
He could easily tell his tree was surely ailing,
doubts it can survive making him somewhat nervous.
As it turned out, John’s premonition was right,
the Oak was just too infected to try and spare.
The tree company removed it, grinding the stump,
and in it’s place planted an Idaho Locust there.
John was a bit disappointed about his Oak “friend”,
but didn’t let it bother him for more than a day.
After all, it’s not the same as losing a person or pet
so he bid the Oak goodbye without further dismay.
John was happy to have the Idaho Locust now planted too,
a tree that produces loads of pink flowers each Spring.
Of course it’ll take some time to reach full maturity,
but one day clusters of magenta happiness it will bring.
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