While squirrels buried forest gems
within my wooden chest,
I sipped the songs of nightingales
that wandered from the nest.
My feet would snuggle in the ground,
entwined with rabbit holes;
I welcomed nibbles on my toes
of woodchucks, mice and moles.
When autumn snatched the maple leaves
off every verdant crown,
I gave old needles back to earth
but kept my summer gown.
In frozen fields of wintertime
as skies were arching low,
I swayed amidst my family-
green sculptures in the snow.
But once upon a Christmas day
a brush caressed my knees,
two crossing lines of paint on bark-
a sign, condemning trees.
A chainsaw mulched my waist to dust,
exhaling dirty smoke;
its metal teeth bit nerves and veins
until my body broke.
By Chris W Copyright © 2005-2008
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