To muted beiges and ashen grays as time passes by,
Next to a sign so rudely piercing through my thin, delicate roots,
Destroying my life source.
Drooping my once proud head towards the earth from which I grow,
I feel the thick exhaust from passing cars asphyxiating me, poisoning me with its stinking fumes,
Taking away all colors until the world is covered in its sickening black clouds.
I feel my stalk begin to weaken and bend as the humans take away my nutrients,
My leaves becoming sicker, turning into old parchment paper with burns tracing the edges
My will to live decreasing as the land around me is being destroyed for the humans’ shelters.
Then the murderer arrives, its deadly sharp blades spinning dizzily,
Its roars to be heard from fields away, announcing dread and death with them.
I stiffen and count down my final moments.
It’s heading towards me.
5, 4, 3, 2, 1.
And now here I lie,
The life slowly draining out of my weak body,
Which is broken and chopped into little pieces
On the perfectly cut green grass,
As my delicate roots slowly die next to the sign.
The sign I can finally read with my final moments.
The sign that says “New houses, new homes, the beginnings of a new life!”