Here's a poem about that called …

"Problem Hiding Problems"

Before the arborist came,
two walnut trees blocked
my view of the city.

Fruit pummeled
the aluminum roof.
From dusk to dawn, it woke
me with a thunderous drum.

They blackened my hands
and knees; the yard was packed.
Picking rotten walnuts
off a hill in the back.

The wretched fruit I never ate.
I smelled the ground and cursed
them as we wasted away.

For 40 years I scorned the trees,
but the highway now drowns me in clarity.
My sleepy friend stains and haunts I-70
where echoes of screaming trucks heckle me.

I also sang it as a song …