Group of Seven
By DonnaG
Published: October 16, 2007

dry winds whisper quiet stories about
Jack Pine -- his tired arms backlit by sunshine
late one autumn day beside Little Cauchon Lake

a painter caught the old tree’s silhouette
in oil on canvas before creosote
from an abandoned railway trestle bridge
poisoned the water at our feet

water burbles, singing cold songs about
Jack Pine -- lost, fallen, blending into our rocky landscape
immortalized by one man, destroyed by human ignorance

ancestors all, we are, of Jack Pine
dying slowly in this northern wilderness
waiting for another artist or someone intelligent
to save us