A ten-acre wood had I,
       But not the power to stop them
Killing an oak that reached the sky.
       Their edict in a document.
A quaint, but unsafe, highway drew
       Distracted tourists lured to pass,
Thus the blacktop thinned a few.
       Autumn tour, sky of glass,
A curve of hill, the oak in view,
       A splash of color not to last.
A golden god, a gash of hue
       The oak too close, the cars too fast.
The engineer who did the study—
       A four-lane highway needed near—
Never got his dress shoes muddy
       Amongst the foliage brought them here.
The easement lane was sixty feet.
       The right of eminent domain —
Take out the curve, the tree for street.
       I felt the felled oak giant’s pain.
And now the super highway’s track
       The traffic seldom ever slows.
With safety sure, no sight distracts,
       The color gone, but no one knows.
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