From THE FREE MARKET 10(8):1 (1992 Aug)
Ode to A Dead Tree
Gary North
I think I shall never see
A sight a lovely as a tree;
A tree cut down for pulp
and boards,
Cut down for profit and
rewards.
Whenever forests disappear
To fill a bookstore front
to rear,
The angels sing a glorious
song,
Especially if the books are
long.
When trees grow high above
the earth
I love to estimate their worth.
I praise the chainsaw and
the axe,
Converting trees to paperbacks.
I love to contemplate
bare hills,
Solutions to society’s ills.
For every tree dragged out
by hooks
May soon become a shelf
of books.
When men cry ``Timber!’’
I rejoice,
A perfect use for human voice.
The sound of buzz saws is
symphonic
So long as books remain
dendronic.
I think of trees througout the
ages
Especially as I’m turning
pages:
Majestic trees in ageless mists
Transformed into best-sellers’
lists.
The thought of trees cut down
for wood,
Serving man as nature should.
Down my spine I get the shivers:
Giant forests into slivers!
Forests growing through long
winters;
Spring will see them all in
splinters.
Literate mankind now confesses:
``Cut the trees and start the presses!’’
I have a sign on my wall modeled after the Sailor’s Prayer:
Oh Lord, My Garden Is So Big,
and My Chainsaw Is So Small!