Eucalyptus Saligna

Tall white strangers reach for the sun;

A procession of steadfast sentries.

Their hands are twisted, gnarled with time;

They chant in silence, waiting

---

For deliverance from the plundering army,

That barbaric horde.

It is a wave of destruction,

Pillaging without sympathy.

---

And none it has for its wrong doing,

No regret, no sadness.

And there is nothing to stop it from its final victory,

But the sentries, whose voice they no longer hear.

---

They stand their ground, those sentries,

Unwavering, uttering a mournful moan

Only when they fall,

Never to rise in glorious height again.

---

Those towering sentries, the wardens:

They hold up their faces to the sun

No matter the onslaught

And plead with the sound of wind through leaves.

---

They have stood for an age,

But their once mighty shout

Is now a whisper, a rustle

A wailing on the wind.

---

Who will save the sentries,

So tall and pale,

With crowns of gold and green,

When all the warriors are dead and gone?