Ghost of a Tree

Unfortunately I don't know who wrote this:

Let us pause for the taking of inventory,
To measure the debt we owe the tree.
For the searching root that knits the soil,
The cooling shade for those who toil,
The air we breathe, nature's greatest gift,
And the leaf that heralds each season's shift.

Forget the not the fruit that feeds man and beast,
The branch that burns to prepare the feast.
That sturdy frame that builds our home,
And the paper on which you read this poem.
The tree gives all and asks no prize,
Even making the axe that ends it's life.





Take care of our trees.