The Sentinel

[Leanne]

Caleb, perhaps you're not reading a lot of contemporary poetry, as there is definitely no stricture against personifying or even anthropomorphising and using the voice of an inanimate object.  In this case, it serves as a voice for the narrator's conscience and does so well.  Though set in an urban environment, this has an oddly pastoral tone to it, which is pleasant to read.  It reminds me of a favourite poem of mine, Municipal Gum by the Indigenous Australian poet Oodgeroo Noonuccal.  

Some thoughts below.

In a modern pedestrian plaza, barely noticed
As people passed, from the corner of my eye
I saw, and then stopped to behold, a great tree,
Not yet in leaf, rising from the paving stones
As if they were its natural element.

This was not some planted sapling left to die,
As they often do, by indifferent bureaucrats; -- as they often are
This was an emperor unfurled, with massive, -- is unfurled the best adjective to apply to the metaphor of emperor?  
Muscular arms outstretched to grab the sky,
Or embrace and comfort a frightened world.

Oh, I was surely surprised to see this giant,
Majestic even among buildings twice its height;
Yet I felt pity, too, to see it imprisoned
By brick and stone; for by whatever method
Trees embrace, this tree would die alone.

No son or sister shared its air; its race,
Conquered by man, turned into little more
Than a source of boards.  Sadly I turned away,
When out from the branches came a windy moan,
As if the tree would have the final say:

"Do not pity me; my race is not undone;
If drout, storm and famine could not kill me, -- *drought
Man will not succeed, though he may try.
The glaciers tried, and so did fire from the sky;
From every patch we rise, and always shall.

"Look not to us, but to your own, for greed -- this entire stanza might be better removed, as it's a little heavy-handed and doesn't add much except to preach.  I think the enduring nature of the trees as discussed in the preceding stanza serves as a nice lesson
Will end you; man has never learned to share.
And when your poisons finally suffocate you,
We shall still be here, casting up our seeds
To mingle in the wind and land everywhere."

Chastened by this sentinel of hope, I felt -- perhaps guardian rather than sentinel -- he is not watching, but is still protecting, so to speak
A cautious glow, that things which might seem lost
Or fallen low, might flourish still—but then
A lick of warm wind turned my hope to dread:
I realized that this was May, not March
(Long past leafing), and that the tree was dead. -- this is the better of the two alternatives, in my opinion -- a strong closing line

Alternate closing line:
(Long past leafing); the tree was already dead.