Music of The Christmas Tree Monoculture

There is no birdsong here

The only light comes
In the precious minutes
At dawn and again at dusk
When the planet’s rotation
Brings the Sun to the horizon
And its beams splay out
Beneath the dense conifer spread
Where the wind orchestrates
An arrhythmic swish and hiss
Of Norwegian Spruce needles
Broken only by swathes of silence
This mournful brushing
Is relentless as the waves
On the eastern shore

There is no birdsong here

~

n.b. Prompted by NaPoWriMo 2025, Day 14. 

CLP 14/04/2025