My beautiful trees

Trees, oh, trees, my beautiful trees
they chop you down,
to do as they please
they must be brought down to their knees for their disastrous deeds
you shaded me, kept me cool
though often crows shat on my head.
But now your gone,
to become fire wood, a chair, dinner table
what have they done
they dont understand
the ecological balance they have harmed
though nothing can be done to right this wrong
the harm has already been done
when will be the day
Man learns of his doom
that he dreats
everytime a tree has fell

Dyson Misquita