I think that I shall never see
A thing as ugly as that tree.
Grass won't grow within her shade
So through the mud I daily wade.
Her leafy arms she holds aloof,
And tears the shingles from my roof.
From above a constant shower,
Leaves in the yard, sap on my car.
In other trees, birds fly and flit,
They only come to mine to ____.
Autumn comes and colors abound,
My tree just turns to barnyard brown.
This poem was made by poor old me,
And Poulan fixed that dratted tree.
Thanks, it is good but I am struggling with the political scene.