Friday, January 06, 2006


We would never claim that it was our last article that sent Bush to a military hospital to award some Purple Hearts to a few deserving troops but if he hadn’t gone we might never have heard of his “combat” wound with an unpatriotic cedar.

It seems that he was talking to reporters at the hospital following his visit to the Purple Heart recipients and showed them the wound on his forehead. He said he got a wound in combat too like the soldiers – only it was with a tree. For a picture of this horrible wound, click here:

Oheeeuuu!!! Tough trees, cedars. This fearsome encounter of Bush with a cedar tree appears to be a metaphor of his attitude toward humanity, and humanity’s toward him.

The cedar over the ages has been and is formidable in its construct and uses. It is food for birds that eat the cones and for deer that graze on the leaves in the winter. It is an excellent windbreak and bird habitat. The principal flavoring of gin is the cones of the cedar.

Of course everyone knows of its use in chests and cabinets where it discourages moths and insects, besides smelling great and lasting forever. Oil from the cedar is used in medicines, perfumes, disinfectants and in a variety of technical and medical work.

Also because of its resistance to bugs and microorganisms of the soil, it is in great demand for fence posts, log cabins, model construction, carving, flutes and of course Christmas trees.

It has always been sacred to Native Americans who know it to be exceptional in repulsing energies and in protection. It is used to ward off or drive off negative influences or spirits. – The Legend of the Cedar Tree

Here we have a tree, the cedar, that is widely spread over America with many and varied abilities, shapes and talents – just like Americans. And sadly we also have a man whose mission in life is wiping them both out.

Sadder still is the fact that American voters put him in a position where he could do this. A pity that he does not read, other wise he might have come across this poem by a man who really was wounded, mortally wounded, in action, Sgt. Joyce Kilmer, 165th infantry, WWI.


I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

- Joyce Kilmer

[Kilmer was mortally wounded by a sniper's bullet on July 30 during the second Battle of the Marne. Only thirty-one years old, Kilmer died that day in the village of Seringen. Buried in the Military Cemetery at Fere-en-Tardenois in France, he was awarded the Croix de Guerre by France.]

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1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Poor baby!