A Most Pleasant Irony

The maple was neither proud nor noble.
No more than a buck in the cross-hairs.
Chance is out with certainty.
The tree is pieced out,
Like fingers in a cigar clip gangster clip;
Or a gangerous WWI leg.
The sound the tree once made
By catching the passing wind,
Falls to the ground,
Never reaching the roots.
The cutters are as sure as orthopedic scalpels.
They notch limbs that give the final thump.
A sound I dread.
And yet the most pleasant irony
Is the chipper.

by Francie Lynch

Comments (4)

what type of poem is this and is it published?
Really great. I've been in Dublin Ireland once. stayed there for about 2 months not that iam from Ireland or Irish but, i went to visit a couple of people Its beautiful country This Poem Kinda reminds me of my visit Iam gona have to give you a ten 10++++
I am reading all the Burns poets on this site. Wish I had read this one before I left for Ireland in May. I spent 10 days there, my first visit ever, and though it is not my home, I wish it were. Next time I go, I will think of your poem, whic is quite is lovely and evocative. Thank you
Being Irish I might be bias but that is a lovely poem All the best Ian