Pining for Pine

A missive for a pine tree that ended up in the wrong place through no fault of its own:

In all the years, with lop and chop,
My grandeur not what it should have been,
Yet I stood straight, right to the top,
Survived decades of smoke and steam.

Around me grew the brick and stone
To welcome people to this place.
Yet I still stood, proud and alone,
Though now I just look out of place.

The time now comes, when roots and height
Imperil gardens, roof and slate,
Pose threat to homes both left and right.
Permissions granted: seals my fate.

The sawyers came, cut off my crown,
With rope and saw and no remorse,
My branches tumbled to the ground.
Now my demise must take its course.

A pole so tall points to the sky,
The scars bleed resin from the trunk,
From heartwood comes the deepest sigh –
My scruffy majesty – defunct.

Next day they came, the final blow,
Goodbye, dear friends, farewell, adieu,
With saw and crane you watched me go,
And gave this space a different view.