Perhaps the birch bark's a delicious treat
For buzzing, gnawing, insatiable
Insects, stripping it bare of its black bark.
We leave it to creak in the winter cold,
Bereft of fall leaves - 'White now, bark no more.'
"When it creaks, does it, like a treant, speak,
'Give unto me shelter from this harsh world?'"
I walk on, to face chill winter's harsh winds;
Leaving the birch rooted in its sorrow,
"Perhaps its bark will grow back, tomorrow?"
I shiver, glad that the tree stays rooted,
"What chaos and turmoil could it create,
Branches swinging, scratching, at all us beasts?"
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