The morning was like any other

The morning was unlike any other
up the dirt road

Trudging along was the weary traveler
Under the sun boring down unchecked
Not for him any shade or shelter

Sky above and ground beneath
Clueless was the hapless bird
Not for him his home and hearth.

Building up his winter’s cache
Thrifty squirrel scurrying around
Not for him his gourmet berries bash

Their world swung on its sides
Lizards, Beetles, Ants…
Not for them their holes, cracks or crevices

No flowers, dirge or eulogy
None near or dear to shed a tear
Nor a black-bordered obituary

Lay bare and spread-eagled
Like a fallen soldier on the frontline
To be chain-sawed and carted

Mourned in silence by the voiceless
Not a thing amiss for the sentient
What if the world was a mere tree less

The morning was like any other
up the dirt road

End