Daniel Fitzgerald

001

Daniel Fitzgerald
001

001

A tree planted out front,
Cared for from sapling.
Watered, pruned, fed.
Dreams of a tire swing,
Naps in the shade.
Birds startle us every morning,
Bouncing through branches.
Autumn leaves cold.

Moved before we could enjoy or build,
But I stopped by the other day.
Dead in my tracks.
Chopped down, gone.
Replaced with an extended patio.
I left a note, scribbling on a receipt.
“It’s none of my business but
I hate what you’ve done with the place.”