Temporary Solution

Dread Dutch elm disease is back
After thirty years’ reprieve.

The trees that grew up hopefully,
Now again we grieve.

Thirty years ago it hit;
Stately elms began to die.

We went for all the remedies
To save what pleased our eye.

We cut and burned, disposed of trash,
Agreed to immunize them.

We planted germ resistant strains;
We would come to prize them.

So, now, we’re cutting down the dead,
Dispose of what’s unsightly;
Some citizens don’t follow suit,
A thing we don’t take lightly.

This time it’s not priority,
Gross corpses to remove
And it’s beyond our power
To move others to improve.

So the gray, gaunt spectres stand,
More weird, perched on by crows.

Resignation reigns supreme;
We hope they’ll decompose.

An optimistic thought comes forth,
Relieves a bit our dread;
Soon leaves will fall, and we won’t know
Which of the trees are dead.