THE FALL OF A SENTINEL

Heavens above!
We come upon you
So utterly
Destroyed.

Truly splintered
Ribs and arms
Splayed akimbo
By outrageous power.

What thought you,
Whispering tree,
So torn apart
And hideous?

We gently touch
Your pines
Your cones
Now sleeping.

And what has been
Is now not so,
No longer
Swaying, sighing.

Why solely you
Amid such sturdy friends 
Sentinel
On Watling Street?

Quite fractured,
Without response
As we console
Your broken self.

I picture you
And call you ‘friend’.