From the Sycamore Gap
Everyone assumes that I was happy here
In my own world, with no buildings near.
And yes, I did love sun and rain
And feeling Spring come round again.
 
But I longed for company of my own kind
Instead of the hordes who came to unwind
Or for endless selfies, ashes or wedding,
Or just to gawp at the gradual shedding                            
 
Of my leaves; this may have looked pretty
But, in fact, was also deserving of pity
For the relentless storms that used to rage
Through my empty branches; I then felt my age.
 
So although the act was totally insane,
I like to think my death wasn’t in vain,
For all the myriad outpourings of sadness
May lead to trees receiving more kindness.

Elizabeth Adams