He trembles at the absence
Of the life that made his life,
The freedom that made his joy,
The child, his best companion.
Edward Abbey’s juniper
Comes to mind, from that passage
On uprooting trees with chains
Where Abbey observes
He doesn’t know if the tree
Is actually suffering
But he does know that it takes
A long time to die.
It’s hard to tell: uprooted,
Dying or injured, alive?
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