Workmen came to cut back the branches today
severing limbs shaking loose leaves dead heads of what
were sweet white flowers.
I watched them a while before it became too sad.

I had watched grow all year the leaves
I had anticipated through winter into spring.

Returning to my windows ledge,
the workmen had left.
What remained of them, my companions my friends
was skeletal jutting and awkward
no longer rich bountiful rolling over.

Left staring at the devastation,
a little emptier than I started out that morning