The trees remind us

Spring flings
Many things
spiral through my mind.
The metropolis grows,
yet everyone knows
growth is sometimes unkind.
We strolled through the streets;
the people we meet
are those with whom we find
something in common
they serve God, not Mammon.
to a certain extent we are blind.
Wise old oaks,
Wise old folks,
deciphering the signs.
We hoped for good health,
later, wealth,
the ties of greed, they bind.
We find
unkind
the purveyors of progress were blind.
Return to past values,
accepting the hues
of development stopped in midstream.
A tour 'round the city,
part beauty, part pity...
and I notice the crosses on the dogwood trees.