[DUMBGRUNT]

Ode to a Dead Tree
By Gary North

I think that I shall never see A sight as 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 As long as books remain dendronic.

I think of trees throughout the ages Especially as I’m turning pages: Majestic trees in ageless mists Transformed into best-sellers’ lists.

Down my spine I get the shivers: Giant forests into slivers! Forests growing through long winters; Spring will see them all in splinters.

The thought of trees cut down for wood, Serving man as nature should, Literate mankind now confesses: “Cut the trees and start the presses!”

[Harmless Teddy Bear]

It is a lovely poem.

[Daffynition]

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The Sound of Trees

 

I wonder about the trees.

Why do we wish to bear

Forever the noise of these

More than another noise

So close to our dwelling place?

We suffer them by the day

Till we lose all measure of pace,

And fixity in our joys,

And acquire a listening air.

They are that that talks of going

But never gets away;

And that talks no less for knowing,

As it grows wiser and older,

That now it means to stay.

My feet tug at the floor

And my head sways to my shoulder

Sometimes when I watch trees sway,

From the window or the door.

I shall set forth for somewhere,

I shall make the reckless choice

Some day when they are in voice

And tossing so as to scare

The white clouds over them on.

I shall have less to say,

But I shall be gone.

 

Robert Frost