Cathedral elms once graced our street
Before they cut them down.
As rot seeped into greenery,
On came the chain-saw sound.
Cathedral elms were God’s sure sign
Our way of life was true,
Their Gothic-arching branches seemed
To point us straight to You.
We lived our lives in sweet green shade,
All summer we stayed cool.
Our trees constrained the fiery sun
From scorching every fool.
Our trees are gone. The sun beats down.
There is no summer shade.
Our church split—now we fools can see
The desert we have made.