Dying Tree

I'm just a twig to them, I shelter them, Feed them, I give them all that I have. They come right up to me with their tools that look like utensils, Knock me down, And strip me bare, Like the tall, slim element-that I am not There is no bright bedazzling light anymore, There is no view that is less appealing, Than feeling yourself swaying left and right. Crumbling and falling into darkness. I am dying, My days on Earth are at an end. Have they not realized that I was godsend? Are they not thankful for me? They do not see what they have become, It is just a duty for them. They're in so deep, That they don't even notice that their making a mistake.