Saved Alive

I consider
The
Mimosa
Tree,
The
One
I see
As
I drink
My
Morning
Tea.
Last
Year
I was
Told
The
Tree
Was
Too
Old,
And
That
Was
Why
Branches
Had
Gone
Dry,
And
Pieces
Of
Bark
Littered
The
Lawn.
‘Cut
‘Er
Down’,
Said
The
Fellow,
Showing
Me
Leaves
Turning
Yellow.
I did
Not
Listen
To
Him,
Sprayed,
Sawed,
And
Trimmed,
And
To
Boot,
Spent
A
Bundle
Of
Loot,
But
This
Year,
My
Dear,
The
Tree
Is
A
Glory,
End
Of
Story.