Take A Break

When I was young, I cut the bigger, older trees for firewood, 
the ones with heart rot, dead and broken branches, 
the crippled and deformed ones, because, I reasoned, 
they were going to fall soon anyway,  and therefore, 
I should give the younger trees more light and room to grow.

Now I'm older and I cut the younger, strong and sturdy, 
solid and beautiful trees, 
and I let the older ones have a few more years 
of light and water and leaf in the forest they have known so long.
Soon enough they will be prostrate on the ground.

"The Woodcutter Changes His Mind" by David Budbill, 

from While We've Still Got Feet: New Poems. © Copper Canyon Press, 2005.