I hope that I shall never see, a road that takes away a tree.

A road whose blacktop mouth is pressed upon the greenery laid to rest.

A road that stares at sun all day, and knows the trees have gone away.

A road that steals away the trace of former beauty filled with grace.

For what we’ll get we’ll rue the day that loveliness has gone away.

The road might move cars in a breeze but at the cost of countless trees.

With apologies to Joyce Kilmer.

Bill Hayes