A nearby plaque details history of a land
once dense with forest, once rich in life,
home to hundreds of trees in their varieties,

all subject to the culling for the golf course,
no sympathy, no remorse, even the plaque itself
poorly painted. The grubby writing forgotten, faded.

But, there’s one tree, veteran to time and change
standing tall and proud upon the driving range,

where two lovers once carved their names,
whittled down the bark to declare an infinite
affection and spark between two beating hearts.

Let it stand, let it remain, neighbouring
a lonely flag for the fourteenth hole.
Two cupid-shot initials eternal.