Chancre

seeing things that tragic way makes
sadness seem effulgent malcontent,
viewing is authentic pain and flows
against the grain like wrong distilled

to claim ‘they’re only trees’ does not
fulfil a suffering for alms or ease the
sense of agony beyond words reach,
they speak aloud in ageless phrase

to share their misery abides a cure’s
content they say, allied in our cause
before the death of truth denies we
ever really lived a healthy life

a chancre fair or foul is seen in shoots
we reared from youth, disease for eyes
and weary boughs as limbs now bared
with love for innocence impaired
© 17 May 2012, I. D. Carswell