I glance around the forest of amputees,
those that gave to those who took.
With which does the final loss reside?
Isn't there a cost
to the taking?
The bark feels rough beneath my calloused fingers,
the wood tempered by rain that fell and sun that shone.
Roots seep deep into the soil
like veins that once pumped life.
Each wrinkle a milestone—
a story.