The Last Stand

In concrete shadows, my branches stretch thin, Gasping for air through leaves tarnished and gray. My roots clutch earth where toxins seep in, As smokestacks define the hue of each day. Once I danced with wind in verdant delight, Now I tremble, weakened, longing to flee From this prison of smog that dims the light— A silent sentinel that yearns to be free. The acid rain falls like sorrowful tears, Washing over bark that's withered and bare. I've stood watching through industrial years, Dreaming of forests with clean, pristine air. Perhaps in death, my essence will soar Beyond this choking urban domain, Where seedlings and saplings thrive once more In lands unmarred by humanity's stain. Until then, I stand—last of my kind— A witness to progress at nature's cost. My leaves whisper prayers to the wind: Remember what we've already lost.