green flows in its river-like
 meandering over every rock never unearthed
 every trough, every crest
  effortless —

to my disgust (or is it amazement?)
 spears appear from an unknown tribe
 chanting with Mother Earth
  (may I call you Nature?)

here and there
 tiny yellow faces —
 smiling since the last death
   when their ancestors were decapitated,

but green flows on
 oblivious, without a care (so it appears)
 it all seems cruel —
  yet they return — smiling.

thus, the cycle repeats.
 the green will vanish in time
 but it, to regain its loss
  will return with vengeance,

and perhaps then
 I too may smile
 at its beauty —
  at least its resilience.

Ferrick Gray
© 7.15.25

The initial draft of this poem was written/scribbled in April 2025. Since then, it has undergone many changes and is to be included in the second edition of Thĕ (Study of) Trees. Despite some of the wording, there is nothing sinister in the poem.