Perhaps a Plum Tree

The march of progress.

Perhaps a plum tree rooted deep
beneath this busy road;
long ago, perhaps the seeds of
a simpler time were sown.
Now the lens of activity
reveals a different way,
and where the fruit beheld the sun
is dressed in black and gray.
Perhaps an orchard held the ground
that beckoned sunlight home;
once where breezes stirred the limbs
now stir through streets of stone.
But progress firmly takes command
exchanging old with new,
and in our haste we stand, perhaps,
where once a plum tree grew.