The sequoia stands so stately
that all humans ooh and ahh.
They have not seen the sun lately.
Above, birds hoot and caw,
knowing not where to find water.
Creatures cradled in her crown
can attest the climate hotter.
In ashes, most fall down.
Except she, who is too thick
to catch colds – let alone fire.
Her hardy bark, red as brick,
seems to announce something dire,
like: “If you don’t see me soon,
better send a search party,
or a rocket to the moon.”
Now, Sequoia, don’t have me croon.