You come upon a fallen tree,
The first to see it in this state:
The random sights that sometimes come,
That haunt and break and devastate —
For you – you could have – maybe not –
What is this ache, this questioning?
How many trees must fall each day?
That doesn’t matter, anyway —
For what is life, but fragile yet,
And what is love but hope and fear,
And who are we to do such things,
And what grows back from only
One small tear?