The Upright Tree

There was a tree,
Trunk straight, slender and brown.
Who had chosen to be grown,
On the side of the road.

There he stood,
In the blazing afternoon sun.
Brushed by hundreds and yet none.
Perspiring baby held in his left arm,
Skin so brown and yet still tinged.
The red showing through.
The harsh rays baking the poor little one.

There he stood this thin tree,
Its roots so deep,
As to render it impossible to fall.
The baby held so tight,
The baby so much loved,
But not by all.
You see no one stopped to call,
Upon that tragic moment.
The tree was forced yet again to stand alone -- to stand tall.

But alas the tree,
For which there was no end in sight.
Continued to stand strong though deeply pained.
His resolute brown trunk,
The one that could not afford to fall,
The one whose roots dove so deep,
Also supported the mother,
Collapsed from the blistering heat.

The mother of the child,
Her anguish chiseled upon her face.
Her plight ignored by the human race.
Only the tree waited upon her,
And her innocent child,
For which there was no hope,
But for the tall, slender brown tree,
Whose roots dove so, so deep.

-- By Tim Howie