A city of trees
Is no more,
It's just a broken
City,
Awaiting help
In stark disbelief,
While a hundred
Chain saws,
Strip it bare
Of the wreckage
Of its beauty.
They were spared
The Presidential
Circus,
For a week,
A week to
Take stock,
To look for dead,
To gather pictures,
Broken treasures,
But now they've got,
Their photo op,
They can plant
Their trees anew,
And if they live,
Ninety years,
Well,
Ninety years more,
They'll see
Their city
Bloom anew.
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