The third of "3 for the Trees"
The line is as if drawn there on the ground,
the trees above, the grass and house below,
as though by nature planned to be a sound
demarcator of how far we should go:
here you may live, here visit, though it's true
our living room expands some every year.
A little firewood, a yule or two,
a few more of the sentries disappear.
The deer, of course, were gone last century,
and now the stove has claimed the elder oak.
Perhaps the odd, covert raccoon can see
the vestige of it going up in smoke.
It isn't that we hate what isn't ours,
and no one here needs to bring in a crop.
It's just the way we tell off ancient powers
who dared advise us where we ought to stop.
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