Weeping

I wrote this poem a few years ago and just found it in a book the other day. I had forgotten about it.

Weeping

The trees are weeping
Their brethren have fallen
Their roots entwined deep in earth
Clasping as hands and trembling
Where is the sun they cried!
What will become of us beneath the surface?
The fallen trees lament, where are our roots?
They huddle in stacks beneath the sky, no anchor to hold them tall
How funny the sky looks from this angle
Where are my branches, my leaves, my birds?
What is progress?
Roots with no trees, trees with no roots?
Where will the songbirds go?
Why are trees weeping in piles of progress
Viewing the clouds askew
Their ancient spirit subdued for naught, they silently cry out
Forests should be vast and green
Roots deeply anchored
Branches should whisper of fairies and raindrops
Then the trees would not be weeping