• The axe falls of intervention are trimming the Forest
    The pink Pedals swerve down like crippled butterflies
    The Ashes burn in controlled waves of liquid fire
    The Maples are dragged amongst their dead leaves
    Spanish Cedars are chopped by axes made of their ancestors
    They spare not the Willow who no longer weeps in vain
    Mills chew up and spew Pine blood in the form of sawdust
    Roses languish in spreading glass and stone deserts
    As they burn around me I cling to my Cinnamon tree
    Their stumps now tombstones their forest now a graveyard
    God gave Her to us in the trees
    Our care all She needs
    We did with Her as we pleased