Heartwood

Would you hew me to the Heartwood, cutter?
Would you leave me open-hearted?

Put an ear to my bark, cutter, hear my sap's mutter,
mark my Heartwood's beat, my leaves' flutter.

Would you turn me to timber, cutter?
Leave me nothing but a heap of logs, a pile of brash?

I am a world, cutter, I am a maker of life -
drinker of rain, breaker of rocks,
caster of shade, eater of sun,

I am time-keeper, breath-giver, deep thinker, cutter;
I am a city of butterflies, a country of creatures.

But my world takes years to grow, cutter, and seconds to crash;
your saw can fell me, your axe can bring me low.

Do you hear these words I utter? I ask this of you -
Have you Heartwood, cutter?
Have those who sent you?

Rob G Macfarlane