Sentinel’s standing tall
guarding the paradisiacal island
year after year into decades
through light storms and squalls

Nothing touched them at all
their roots burrowed deep
fronds spread wide against
sun wind and balmy stalls

Late on the last day of Fall
onto the beach they came
carrying machines made by men
not one could withstand the thrall

Chopping down the lovely molle
used their wood for fancy chairs
on the beach where they had stood
victims of human cabal