THE HEWN GROWING GREEN

Like a mighty mahogany, arms wide-spread, It shades the earth from the sun’s fierce tread, A colossus rising where open lands span.

The green grew steady through trials’ sting, Amid thorns of fire and envy’s cling, Its radiance glowing where no light began.

“This growing green will outshine our place, And crush us like pulp in a bitter embrace!” Cry the envious sages, their hearts a-scorn.

Uprooted, denied the soil it knew, Cast into whirlwinds of creed and hue, It faced the jeers of foes forlorn.

Stripped bare by raiders of wealth and pride, Hacked low in shame where scorn resides, It stood on a hill of wrath, reborn.

Yet its roots, unyielding, sought to roam, Through meadows vast where dreams find home, And carved a path where none had torn.

“Had we foreseen,” the sages now wail, “Our spiteful cuts, meant to make it frail, Brought only our ruin, our plans forlorn.”

Truth dawns to cleanse the hewn green’s pain, Restoring the light of its tear-streaked reign, For he who laughs last laughs evermore.