cedar that thoroughly protests being pruned
scraping away at my skin with branches and bark
poking at my feet with long ago broken off stumps
depositing spiders and dust into my eyes and anywhere it can reach
inner branches show the evidence of long years without sunlight
many short spurts toward the sun
giving up in despair
life shows finally at the finger tips
of long branches that are only mostly dead...
they smell good, dead or alive
I've passed the point of no return
the poor cedars now announce to the neighborhood
that an amateur is pruning them
Only years of sunlight will redeem them
...already showing stubborn determination
little green shoots springing from the thick limbs
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