The Mourning of the Tree

My life is one of eternal patience,
One of waiting for centuries to grow,
To grow higher than my siblings,
My fellow saplings.
My life is one of constant agony,
To be forced to stand still,
As I witness the brutal slaughter of my brothers
At the hands of the two-legged demons.
I let out a scream heard by nobody but the wind,
As it rustles over what little remains
Of my beloved siblings, of the shelter I once called "home".
Again, and again, and again,
I must be an eyewitness to the massacre
Of my proud, staunch mother and father,
My bold, awe-inspiring aunts and uncles,
And my carefree, youthful cousins,
Wishing, begging silently,
That the savages would take me instead.
Ever do I pray that this genocide will cease,
That this brutality will come to an end,
That these monstrosities will return to whence they came.
My many glimmering tears dance to the ground,
As I weep for the loved ones I lose,
Day after nightmarish day.