Man versus Nature

WE find ourselves in the midst of a blinkered

Anthropocentrism which leads us to suppose

That a pile of emaciated corpses, testimony

To the crumbling edifice of a discredited

Regime, has more value than a discarded heap

Of decaying leaves that has been formed by

The wild and ruthless efficiency of an

Unforgiving gale. The one as pale and

Twisted as a plate of unattended spaghetti,

The other crisp and brown like a reclining

Cluster of cremating holidaymakers. Which

Has more worth, do you think, the casualties

Of ideological excess or the fallen offspring

Of a mighty tree? Few of us can understand

The creaking lamentation of the primeval oak,

But who is to say that the moral constructs

Which induce our tears of sadness are truly

Superior to those which cause a trail of

Sorrowful sap to course down that mottled

Flank of silent bark? Who gets to decide:

A post-war tribunal or a parliament of trees?

Perhaps we can say that truth, in nature,

Is subject to both human convention and

The stern judgement of swaying branches?

© Troy Southgate